There goes Antigone and her bird-bone body             building her nest around the
corpse of her brother--I wonder if we are all                 made for love or if

                     it is just those of us with feathers and flock:
                               and what does that say about me who
                               dug my fingernails into the soft skin under my forearms
                               and pulled out anything
                               that dared to grow there? Once my mother told me,

I am going now to my deathbed.
            Alright, then. Have a safe trip, I'll cover your body with dust and water.