I didn’t know what to do with my body after being born,
so I sat with sadness, floating around in her bowl like that.
Can I touch you, I asked?
I did. I called you two minutes later,
after taking a bath,
after biting my wrist instead. You said,
I said, The sky! It’s wearing herself thin today.
You said, Should I send for flowers?
No. No. Just your voice takes me there.
You know, where I’m flying above a corn field,
touching the tips of things, imagining it’s your hair,
then my hair as a child,
and I love everything in pain and everything singing.