But the husband is an idea that occupies and tills the idea
until you are outside of it. And I wanted for so long to sing
an unlonely ode but the ode requires a centering, a centering
for which I am outside. Or I slept in the husband bed, or made
many men sing. But I come from land that meant sweet waters
and nothing of the land bears this shape. But I sipped flat vanilla
Coke medicinally and scraped the innards of a shredded warren
from the new wood finish. Or I dropped a rock on a smashed cat’s head
because it whimpered stuck living on Lincoln Boulevard. How is it
I come from Glück’s marshlands without any of its blue lore?
My body stank in its magenta stirrups, my body rattled inside
the toppling trailer home. What origins was I supposed to speak to?
My identity, it means longing, a surname slipping into ur. A stranger
told us Eilbert means olive and we were so hungry we believed him.