Partum

Just as close to living as you are to disappearing knowing
my limits you locate the tender spots without.
To be batter and rind

maybe I’ve hidden my feral self even though I was certain I was wild
I’m now certain it was vanity

here I pace cut open drinking thistle and yolk
expecting nothing determined to live'

you Little God, Oldest Friend
who summons milk and hair from the follicle who moves my teeth and makes
me bleed it is not a joy but joyful to have been brought
this close
to the earth

haven’t we touched hands before? in the bright red towns of my youth
in Loa or Escalante where I thought we were only passing through
was it you at the counter serving me sarsaparilla in a cool brown bottle,
remembering me?