12

is there life after the moon? does there have to be? some of us raised expecting we'd all fuck off into the sky. why wouldn't every church open at the top, a proper hatch for the thick work of ascending. even gravity can't save you from gawd, they say. this time the animals stay behind, they say, then splish-splash, we got you. we'll push you under but we won't let your lungs fill. yes, even you can be a wife, the letters are already written, we keep adding them to your body to school you in burden. we trade you caring for carrying. we poison your wine with more wine, hold a verse to your lips. there's nothing here to let the moonlight in, what makes you think you could drink it? what has you braiding dandelions when the instruction was to pluck them clear from the root?
                                      i am fastened into the speaking circle, squiriming
                                                           in sound's basin where everyone is fawning ecstasy toward a candy heaven in an ill-finished basement. the room has no windows and two doors, one locked and one that leads further in. i'm old enough to already have my knots and young enough there are knots still to come. through one door, knots. through the other and you've got to lift your hands, you've got to let the tune come out of you, even if you don't mean it. this circle is not a circle but you contribute to its roundness, interrupt a few of tying's hours. somewhere, the future is curious, it wants you to know you'll nick your first small vessel and the surface tension of the single big bead of blood will let you take your time, and in the morning your body has made new colors, a whole miniature system connecting you to orbit.