FIRE ESCAPE
By Jennifer Chapis
Now that you’re gone I can tell the story my way.
Picasso torched his early work to keep the room he rented warm.
Your frequent disappearance made me want to paint. The plan was to hide a key
where someone paying attention could find it.
My new husband thinks the pigeons on the fire escape are love birds
and the female has pretty eyes.
Light standing like this, bending my knees—
When the garden broke in I wasn’t ready.
New paint layered over the canvas
smothers the original.
I thought I heard snow
leap-spit like fire.