A Message From Your Body

What the Wife Learned from a Farmer

When it has been a long time since being touched
a fortnight since fondling, brushing, the slightest shudder.
When it has gone that long, forgo the clothes.
Lose the apron,
the cardigan,
the cotton.
Let them all fall away.
Fill the hallways with honey from the hive
Roll and roll and roll.
Coat your body in gold,
Let the bees speak to your silence.

Sleep well, warm from the heat of insect love.
Sleep all night with the window open.
In the morning leap from the slickest roof,
step out into the snow, greet each flake with a kiss
stand on your head,
bury your face to the tips of your ears
until only the burrowing worms can hear your cries.
Spread wide your arms and legs,
let a storm fill you,
let ice sculpt your joy.

When you have exhausted the elements
drag your frozen body to an open field.
Rest astride a rusted tractor, embrace
the tremble of one hundred years of forward motion,
Dress yourself in horse hide and wilted grass.
Wait for a lone owl to clasp your shoulder,
turn your head round and round
and round on your weary neck,
point you in the right direction.