The Field Is Hot and Hotter
To float on something she has never seen,
my daughter will need her teeth, which she did
not get from me. Her liver, yes. Her death
also. Her breath, no. To float, she will not
need to be lighter than air, just lighter
than terror, whose volume increases with
heat. She will not need her peach cheeks. The green
of her eyes neither. Terror is a color
-less field. I gave her the nails she will need,
and the hammering feet. The field is hot
and hotter. This is a matter of speed.
A question of how much. A question of
weather. The question is whether the seed
will live. It is not a question of love.
