It was November. It was cold; below the seasonal average, the weather forecast said. The wind swept the dead leaves along in gusts. The sky was a cold, clear blue. Really not the weather to be put
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home built around hearth. body
full of brutal architecture? built
around incessant tides pulling blood tallies
across bone calendars.
i baked bread yesterday,
measured flour, yeast, saltwater heat. left to fill
skeletal imprints of my hands
i did not eat.
kept the sea out of myself. virgin
goddesses knew the months
better than i. knew calculus
of mirrored x body. counted brackish veins.
vesta and selene. sexless violence
inscribed, inverted,
what lunacy? i baked bread again today
let scores burn to cinder.
shoulderblade moon. scorched hearth.
turned my skin inside out.
swept up the ash. kept
myself housed in unfamiliar oceans.
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