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.