Nothing of this world will sound outside of me,
                                                                                low-toned and holding,

wringing your strings and your scythes. Not one
                    vent will blow.

                                        No self-righteous mothers will fill their sturdy shoes and you
                    were never full enough.

Basil and spinach washed, draining in the wire colander,
                                                                                  chatty as the sunburned throats
                                                                                of deadheaded roses.

If I put one leg around you in the night, if I press
                                                            your hands above your head:
have you ever seen such want?

You thought I literally drained every boy’s canteen and
                    every last quarter and washer was mine.
                                                            My bee balm, my soft spoken, unsayable—
why look at the want you carved out in me?

Organize the chaste and manic soil. It turns and turns
                                                                                like static in your skirts,
                    birds for your waist.
                                        Talk it back into quietude.


poetry101509.jpg**Lilah Hegnauer** is the author of Dark Under Kiganda Stars (Ausable Press, 2005). She has an MFA from the University of Virginia and she teaches literature at James Madison University. She is currently at work on her second book.


**Poet’s Recommendations:**

Siste Viator by Sarah Manguso

Satin Cash by Lisa Russ Spaar

O Woolly City by Priscilla Sneff

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