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her voice woke me at 2 a.m. (segment of long project for whitman’s workshop)

Thursday 3 April 2008 | I like a cookie

I had not known that death would work in me
its tide pulling

as deeply as life had done
wanting food, wanting

mouths at my breast
that it would have a surging lust

as for a lover
after my girls were grown

sometimes in the bathroom with nightgown
pulled up around my neck

I could still press thick buttery droplets
from my nipples

the desires of life have not
diminished

had I not been so sick I would have
worked every morning

in school teaching the rows of desks
fluorescence

overhead
windows looking out onto a blacktop parking lot

and would not have lain here to watch
the mist

gray and undisturbed by any sound
I would have missed

this spring


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