Spray Painting My Landlord’s House

Mist of my hand, hissing a spell,
O rescue me rattlecan
if you can’t return me my sisters.
Our mulberries relished
in the lilting heat, whole novels
read aloud on the floor.
This was our home in his house.
Twelve hour dinners, tulip bulbs
cradled like goose eggs, delirious
with our womanness
while notices slithered under doors
and neighbours’ roofs confettied
into electrical fires.
You stole my very life, I thought at him,
discarding my face in the laneway,
finger curled at the nozzle
as if scratching at a scab.
All my life, my want
has been my wasp.
In the morning I will watch you
put your head in your hands.
I make a black dew.
I conjure your name.