Turn your head
            sideways & it looks like birds, fish,
flesh—just water,
 
            just air. A nest of black gloves, fingers
curling toward the heart-come
            here. Come here. Now. The threats
 
of childhood: belt, wooden spoon, daddy’s
            fist. The same hand that brands
the skin removes
 
            the splinter, cracks
eggs into omelets, the unformed
            cluck wriggling out. The canal:
 
frozen water, stilled bridges. Nothing lifts
            in winter. Snow swirls, scarves
wet from breath crystalize.
 
            All has become so pointless yet
this isn’t true. Last time I dreamed
            I dreamed of kindness & wet
 
hands. (My ex-husband.) All is full
            of love & warmth & I am afraid
to lose it. And, if loss is inevitable,
 
then, it is here now. A body
            floating toward shore. A missing sock
            found in the oven.
 
When the dark holds
            like a wet wool glove remind me
to tell myself to offer
 
            protection. When tulips are open
for a friend’s hysterectomy.
            For a friend’s circumcision.
 
For a friend for a friend for a friend.
            I take away the first layer &
feed it to my dog. I skin
 
            it, drape it over a fence & build
a fire. I debone the chest, remove
            the heart. I chew on its feet
 
while looking up
            at the stars. (I dream) my teeth fall out.
(I dream) my hair falls out. (I dream) I cannot
 
            move. The heart (thumps)
in its walrus belly. The belly churns
            in salty anguish. Gums bleed.
 
Teeth pull like tweezers
            the hangnail. Simple things
we cannot let be simple, anymore.