Altarpiece with Wolf and Door

1.

That mother

wanted me pretty
meadow-minded, tinseled, and hooved
in blue, sugar-licking
the fence She wanted me fielded blond
brays floral and never thirsty, some honeysuckle hem

my lips pin curl plump and twill

wanted my words
sewn in hers: never
a girl spilling her never words swarming from seams

only glass
bees (pretty) filling the blooms
between us

2.

That mother

thought she could rid
me of teeth, the candle-dark hunger, ice and violin, the prayer:
hair of the father wolf that bit
the roof in two—

wanted

the wolf in me sleeping off
its forest hackles, forgetting its fur was no father’s was her
own ink-slick growl and hum

3.

But this one

is a secret fox who comes
in our lavender sleep and forgets—

who carries chimes on her back like breath

Comes daisy and yarrow
to this pine-rimmed nightfield Mother, I

invent you in draw
me flagging vixen-gasp draw me

and witness how you once
wanted what I wanted: grass
and thistle

mother I can’t stay here
but draw me a sapphire door:

call me in
feed me stars and stars