Look too long and I become / firefly, fox, rabbit, / deer, knotted hunk / of fur
I faked my orgasms early, my husband’s face always tilted
I watched a man eat a dove. / It meant nothing.
when she fell she’d laugh / a thin looping sound / one / day she made me / be the child
like a tongue / rueful / tastes sweetness / yet / cannot secrete it
What did you give up for that iridescent wing? / the larger sky the bowl of blue
my pickled selves spooning each other / elbows in knees in bellies fumbling
imagine there were only two, / an Adam and Eve in their fig leaves, banished from Eden, / hopping bravely onto the stolen earth, Starlings
Water is my mother today. Creamy foam, / frothing falls, flash of eels, distant oxbow.
On the bus, a baby girl holds my eyes / over the shoulder of her mother. / You look at me in a way that pleads / It’s a sign.
I want to return. It’s hard to remember now how afraid we all were, how little we understood about what would happen next, how the world was emptied of human noise.
My mother is dying. I sit outside with a pear, and remember Auden’s poem about Icarus falling from the sky.