LAUNDRY

eventually I put my red sleeved hand 

over your face

what I wanted to say 

simply was not happening

alone here at the table

I am the scrambled yoke 

of perception

and desire

I talk about my brother like he's a saint

I talk about everyone 

like they are outside of me, 

when in fact  

we look for people to love us, 

until they love too much

make wings out of our bodies

without permission

I am my mother's daughter

buying rags to drape

over everything dirty

or damp

I would like a rag

bigger than the ocean