I gutted the library, hunting
for what happens when a coyote fucks
a Labrador, if their pup can be trained
to lick the mailman.
Counted all the stairs from my kitchen
to the cellar, siled through the phonebook
for a friend who loved me enough
to push me down them.
Discovered my mother humming to the garden:
voice fat with water, chrysanthemums
swelling faster from the sound.
During the week I thought
I was carrying your child,
I did not sing.