What things I try to build a self from!
A child’s bedroom with peeling paper and a hole
in the plaster-and-lath wall and gouged floorboards,
tall weeds in a garbage-thick ditch, rank smells,
broken glass gleaming, slugs and grackles,
rotted tree stumps, unused rooms and subterranean
parking garages, stairs to a vacant lot, oil spots
on asphalt, sleet and fog, spiders, pill bugs, frogs,
all things shunned, cracked, rejected,
I drag home and glue together and place
labeled and signed on a shelf.
My mother would leave the chicken breasts
and drumsticks for us, and nibble on the neck;
claimed she liked it. I believe her.