Tonight let the rat steal the rice. The moon
is in love and even the starving flea
will be pardoned. Tonight, hunger, roughhewn
like love, goes down smooth. We’ve all been hungry.
We’ve all wished somebody would speak secrets
that are simply obvious. Big sister,
where is your story? Why aren’t the poets
singing about you? Mama warrior,
let me braid up your hair. I have no tongue
for tune, but for you I’ll sing any song.
Tonight, saddle up. The moon is absent
and the rat is full. No one else has sung
what you do. Sister, you’re my blood, headstrong
fairytale made flesh; violent and hellbent.