Why I No Longer Date
as a kid I gathered firewood,
Yanking branches and sticks from the fallen bodies in the forest.
Now once a body spoke to me.
she splayed large across the ground,
Groping the sky with nettled fingers, she held a bird in her palm
Her voice was a rattle. It was soggy. Is that strange?
A voice full of leaves crunched and trunks axed.
To me, her words are gone.
I have no idea what she muttered
yes. muttered. She did not sing
But kestrels could sing, or yell, and they still, sing, or yell.
What worries you more?
The chortle in her rattle worried me.
So ponderous an amusement
So sick an affliction
as a man I do not gather firewood
my body is warmed by less.