A needle and thread:
Imagine yourself in your hand,
loving what you want to mend. That’s easy.
What’s hard is pulling yourself through.
A mirror:
Be a backwards Susanna. Watch old men stroke
their beards while you bathe. Learn to love them.
They are your wet nurse, your supple, your seethe.
An ecstatic:
Hold the storm to your belly, feel it
sizzle and rupture like the first man you loved.
Returning, tell the sky what you’ve proved.
The wolf:
Learn what it’s like to give birth in the snow,
lap placenta from fur, feel five sets of teeth pull
at your teats. Carry always that hunger.
A riddle:
Be your own bride. Speak tenderly
to your shyness. Touch the shivering breast.
That’s your answer, your tryst.
A closed curtain:
Remember the first time you bled.
How, after that, you tried to keep everything in.
What you hide is shame and desire, its twin.
A palimpsest:
Be enamored by the promise of skin.
Like a tyrant, let someone else stroke your fear.
Part your knees. There’s salvation here.