the fourth child
in my sob-lodge / the straw mattress incants
enchantment / raises the dead from boulders
we used to cemetery our side yard/ mama
says she won’t die yet can’t / neither can i
i use my best eyes / the tears from their insides
pipe them in heart-bottles / to be worn mourned
at the neck gone noose-less or noiseless / the forest
quits while it’s beyond me / makes veils of my incisions
my sharpcuts / little mouths for ash of old
& decrepit / i accept i accept it / weeping
now in the desolate / no one has ever seen
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