found poems are poems too, Rebecca
And because he is not entirely cruel, God said unto the woman–
“Please, little one, take the first pat of butter and the first spoon of jam. Take the finest pair of slippers and the very largest clot of cream. Take up the choicest grasses and the clearest water to keep for yourself. And the dandelions. And the runt of every litter. Take down the farthest star and pop it into your mouth every night. When morning comes, I will fly into your room and place a living coal on your tongue and you will become orange–every bone and nerve and memory etched with fire. You will burn and in the burning you will be refined. This is why the girl in the window wants you back. This is why God did not flip open the lid of the old white house. This is why your left hemisphere is trapped, like a bird beating its white wings against the great coop of heaven. Take up the cross, wee mountain of flames. Something good will come of it.”
