The paper birch unscrolls sheaf / after sheaf through long wintry / afternoons. The snow speaks glitter / / and patience.
she stands by the wall, watching, like a doe / at the edge of a meadow, deciding, deciding—
Having birthed, my womb is still / full of creatures. My first son / names them and names them, and calls / forth another with each new naming.
Sometimes, I think you put the demon inside / my esophagus so you’d have something to watch.
I was born with aggressive toes / turning mother’s face / clockwise / early morning, alarm, alarm / nothing good / happens before dawn
it beats, an urgent stranger at the door, / knocking
this is for you, / little wee thing of ears, wee body of mouth / this burden is for you the better to hear the better to shout / this is for you
The mathematical lie is x / / My problem can’t be solved / for treasure or emptiness / much less a number / that wobbles on a cliff
I meant to weave a nest today, / to replicate the spider's web / with floss or something runnable / through teeth.