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Poem	Mother, strange goddess face above my milk home, that delicate asylum, I ate you up. All my need took you down like a meal. What you gave I remember in a dream: the freckled arms binding me, the laugh somewhere over my woolly hat, the blood fingers tying my shoe, the breasts hanging like two bats and then darting at me, bending me down. The breasts I knew at midnight beat like the sea in me now. Mother, I put bees in my mouth to keep from eating yet it did no good. In the end they cut off your breasts and milk poured from them into the surgeon's hand and he embraced them. I took them from him and planted them. I have put a padlock on you, Mother, dear dead human, so that your great bells, those dear white ponies, can go galloping, galloping, wherever you are.
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