“….One October long ago the singsong
of trick-or-treat made me so aware of the body,
how our homes are our body, how you’re choosing another
body. Barns in my hands, bobby pins—my whole body
is a womb. Prepare this place for bed.
My mother calls and says she’s going to the Frick this weekend, as if everyone
knows what the Frick is, the cross streets, its smell of manure
the horse carriages leave behind.
I feel like my body hasn’t left that moment long ago
when my mother opened her mouth and pain flew in,
how synonymous it became to vulnerability. Waiting for this train,
I am and am not a woman, in a suit.”