You are become woman. Come back finish your milk!
Take initiative. Play if done with obedience.
War is inside you. War is rivers across.
Your own mind. What’s sweeter than college?
Despite years of tacit anniversary,
the motorcycle shape of the tomb
of the union man—on whose chest was trained
sights, bullet points of the milk company—
still chafes your soul into pieces of melt
purple against the blunt of a butter knife.
Did we or did we not
tell you to go to your room?
This talk of mountains as if it were a womb.
Never use that tone on us are we clear?
Your bags packed since the day you were born.
When you raise that voice spare your mother
Throw it rather to my face
Your eyes open where I can see them.