Sent home with a lie in her mouth,
October’s daughter stalks past her father
Resolving no longer to take shelter
She sits down,
Buries her tongue in his votive mound
Fertile with envy.
Knolling her lips in curtain-parting
Frenzy, my little girl fires thoughts like thighs ’round
The end of the world, whispering, Daddy,
Bend down; it’s like trying to touch
Heaven from your bedroom. I’ve waited long enough
And I want it so badly. Gardeners and ploughmen
Bow when a princess knees them, gladly.
In seedtime or harvest, even
Kings need it—to feel wanted
When seasons change and
Sons no longer eat the host
In a domed chapel de-vaulted—broken,
Falling for her, I saunter.
Stooping to let her conquer, I squander
Her inheritance on a banquet
Reserved for her mother.
Squatting with stuffed cheeks, blush
Fills innocence with curiosity,
Not knowing what to tell the others
Or what, rather than “Perfection”, to call her.