January 2014

Poetry

You Must Be Good

You must be the animal
who is never thirsty.

You must sense the split
even before the horse.

You must trap your tongue
in a grave of books.

You must be the valley
that trumpets the cold.

You must listen for the leaves
before they spark.

You must not frighten the dresses
as they shield the song of breasts.

You must not breathe near the wolf
lest he smell your fingers.

You must play only five notes
so as not to appear larger than the moon.

You must flatten the farmhouse of your hips
so your mother may flourish.

You must tether yourself to land
though bells burst from your lit window.

You must be the shepherd girl
herding winds into paper ducts

You must be a bed, a plum, a stone, a mist
never a belly and a mouth.