her teeth like honey for awhile.
swallowing the best parts of you
you were looking, all wet-eyed admiring
love made into mouth.
it isn’t shameful,
to love another woman like the women in your family have always
loved their men
it is sacred
to feed the one you love intimacies.
she, bottomless and looking past you,
makes our stomach growl again.
you fall in love,
you shave the upper lip of a woman so pretty that she doesn’t have to
tell the truth,
a good man and a hunter.
and you, brave though she brings nothing home,
not even herself.
as you were born an empty room, an empty field
and as dust yields dust, so you multiply in silt,
have nothing to give you
pulled taut and still by desire how
/gi r l/ of you to be
will you live the life of the resurrected, of your great-great-
grandmother, but weaker?
with skin warped like gatepost from all the comings and goings;
and like your grandmother now,
drag your ox heart across the floor,
tearing lover-sized holes into walls
bruising teak, gouging garden plots into tear-watered bedroom floors,
willed an inherited seedlessness
like your mother
she gave birth only to an absence.
and when they ask, you say:
the wind grew horns
the wind gored my house,