I heard there is a lamp in the shining sky.
Both my hands are dirty and tough like shoe leather,
But I’m farming something glowing, gilded in my mother’s footprints.
There are pearly houseflies in my windowpanes, and they’re buzzing
inside my head. I can’t hear myself think, can’t hear myself hunt,
But I’ll have my future laid out in an egg carton by winter.
My teeth are straighter, my hair is longer, I know,
but inside my shining chest there sleeps a warm creature,
whose limbs are tearing outside of my skin,
I lay in the kitchen and beat it back with a spatula,
I curl on my bedroom floor and try to teach myself calculus.