wild

Jar my mouth with your finger – petal

nest for the unborn bee after the mother is gone – darkly

burrow in what she laid

and sealed with mud – little bandage holding

the shape with blood – break it apart – one soldier locked to another:

one living, one dead. I said to the god,

I want you inside of me everywhere at once.

The god said, I want all the power taken back

and forth.
                Your fingers are iron.
                                                  I know.





From Do Not Rise (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2015). All rights reserved. Reprinted with the permission of the author.