From I Drive You from My Heart
Jana Harris

Frances Stanton, Snake River Crossing, 
Cottonwood, Idaho 1889

With thorn bushes, 
with a flailing razor strop, 
I drive you from my heart,
throw rocks at you,
throw gravel shards
at your two burnt matchstick
eyelid slits. The black 
coachwhip snake
of your smile I hatchet 
with a dull carving knife; 
with the sharpest pick 
pummel your bloodless cyanide 
peach pit heart. With knitting 
needles, nails, I drive you 
from every cell of memory. 
I stab slivers through 
the bridge of your nose, 
your brow's overhang, 
then hammer down 
your high-peaked cheek bones.
From my body I purge
you like the crabs
of cancer, like a heavy
affliction of the lungs, like 
misery in my joints. 
I drive you, drive you 
from my heart...


Ontario Review #51