i gave birth to body white collected to my thighs
held her there, between my legs, and brought my knees up high
and she slid out, i don't know how (my body is not big enough)
you left yr meat all in the leaves, gathering sweat from the graves
you body cistern, i brought you a sister from what holes i could not crave
but i'll go, and be brave: i only have faith in what is good
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i knew a boy who built an aviary
he gathered all the wood that he could carry
i pulled from his chest to get blind from the bees
and we exchanged helium because we're tired of ceilings
i found him bucked out like a jarhead
his antlers found seaweed from an ocean bed
and he carried carvings of his own geography
but had he stabbed his own eyes out so he couldn't see
(blind-drawn maps all over his hands)
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i said:
i don't want to be yr wife i couldn't stand to do this my whole life
my breast milk is heavy and you don't have the strength to help me with this baby
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and when we pull out of each other, i ask you if you can tug me off
you ask me if i can put you out like "what fire" and "drag the shit from each other"
"all the fluids from your mother"
i can barely stand in your lake disease again w/ yr vomit up to my waist
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and in the hospital they ask me if i know where your parts go
but i tell them your body isn't made from skin they know