Help me, Father! Open the earth
to enclose me, or change my form.
I refuse to trade my woodlands
for the tomb of a marriage house.
Don’t speak to me of grandchildren!
Bobolinks sing lullabies sweeter than I
who would rather romp barefoot
with the rabbit and the red fox
than be cracked open like a mollusk
to let Apollo in. These hips
were not meant to dandle babies.
Keep me safe, Father,
from the hard wants of a man.
If I must be rooted, plant my feet
in rich soil, let my womanly flesh
harden to bark, and let my limbs,
robust in sleeves of evergreen,
keep reaching for the sun.
