Mother-Body, Full-Moon

This body
is a loop-stitch
crocheting the torn dark.

This body
of leaf litter,
mews and soft-lathered grays.

This body
of wipe-rag
hair and carabiner arms.

This body
of sags, ironing
the art of happy.

I cannot remember
the last time
I hummed

in a room expansive.

Or stopped to
look at the tired moon

without thinking
how there’s always
a man

so drunk
lying beneath her,
pawing to milk her.

& The Dirt

as in I’m scared
not by how much I need,

but by how much I’m prepared
to wreck to make it

Quick Change

There is body in the coat closet in the hall by the front door, body under the bed in plastic bins, a pile in the garage by the recycling bin.