Our children do not mean
Their numbers are up, the fireflies
To kill them when they cup

As a child, my hand closed over a centipede,
There was a penny in my mouth

Love brought these readers into the world
The cuplike structures
of their eyes were formed

Driving by it now—walking in Brownsville
is no longer safe—536 remains
the only semi-private house on the block.

I. After the Fall

Standing in the midst of my illness
alone. Psychiatrist gone. The work

Does she feel safe there, between her dad's
big knees She stands upright or half sits,
red dress always the same, white underpants

Grief, have I denied thee?
Grief, I have denied thee.

That robe or tunic, black gauze

Like dogs in Mexico,
furless, sore, misshapen,

arrives from laborious nowhere

Your beauty, which I lost sight of once
for a long time, is long,
not symmetrical, and wears

Once a woman went into the woods.
The birds were silent. Why? she said.
Thunder, they told her,