In the Tradition of Women Who've Blessed Me to Transfer Their Virtues

I give you what I don't have.

Strawberries in the mouths

of birds. Unopened pomegranate

blossoms devoured by ants. Fruit dropped

from unpollinated vines, all varieties.

Tell me the last time a flower wasn't

the shortcut to desire. One year

in the middle of my life

I asked

how full do I want to be

.

Like hunger in the years before,

I asked fullness to be endless.

Every noise, I gave cause to.

An excuse to find comfort

in the sounds of eating,

the small soul cutting a summer

lawn. I hear the thrum and wait

in my hothouse for my dinner

to line up petal to petal.

Plant fruit I've germinated

in my own mouth. Let

the animals in. I mean

to say I'm in love

with that small mouth.

But I can't call love out

without telling the difference

between one mouth in the grass

and another. Permission is a fruit

I've cut from the tree, meaning

I've taken human sacrifice.

When I say

be careful

I want to use your hands

in place of my hands.

When I feed the animals

the rabbit stands up

so straight she falls over.

That's the part I want

you to know. We are

that kind of animal.