Preemie (PDF Version)
You're in the right place, all the things
we love are curled. Time wraps its tail.
Women wear tendrils in the rain.
We can't pick you up to prove it,
but you seem to be the pink shell
we've been walking the beach hoping
to find. No? You are a skinned fruit?
The universe's collapsing ear? Yes.
We don't whisper to you but into you.
We say, Come towards us. We say This woman,
this breast is the best we have to offer.
Five Months Bed Rest, Weak Placenta
When your life depends upon not moving,
I've found, you know more. We squirm within
the grip of houses. We escape into the yard
the way Monday escapes into Tuesday,
and only the luckiest people on earth
have ever done so. The disappointment
of my life? That I haven't turned into a cave.
Ringing, like movement, must be kept away
from me, but my friends want to call me and say
oh no no no. I tell them that so far
they know nothing of themselves, but I do this
nicely, by not answering. The world can
die inside you, girls. Food, your mouth, your husband,
everything tastes different once you learn this.