Moon a half moon. Little sour apples
in the grass.

I am staying up for something.
Trying to make anything

happen. So much of nothing
and for so long. My own real mother

gone off to join her own near the dead world.
As close as she can get.

To have a father, then. Or,
a decent lover. The one thing better
than a mother. The one desire

better understood.

If I open to the flame it will burn
the tallow of me. Burn me whole, or pure.

Burn me to a blackened wick. A message

from another world across the river
of my remembering him. —Which puts me where?

Too late now to be a girl, but I am one
old girl, all right. Already walking
in the flames of myself.

{Carlen Arnett; Under Scorpio}


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