I’ll feed you
a line—Maker, don’t
hesitate, just set that saw
to singing—so that he’ll cut
your legs free from the linden
block, and stain them, too, all
while cradling your voice, faint as a child’s
in the next room—and here, I’ll feed you
another line—until you say yes,
to a name or yes, please
to his naming—and although you
are not his daughter you are born
by his hand, you answer
the name he cuts free in your mouth—
Molly and Cindy and Christy and Sam—
yes, you answer all the same—
from TeratologyFind it in the Library
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