by Maggie Evans
I thought I should tell you,
in the interest of fostering a more sincere
connection between the two of us, that
the following section was excised because
it too easily eroticized my desire to become
crows:
I would have one eye
and cock my head cockier.
I would be the glossiest. Licked blue.
Cricket bane. Kiter.
I would be the limping left-behinder.
It doesn’t really seem
to say I am not crows (though that was my intent,
as I can hardly lick or be licked by a crow,
as I can hardly be considered blue
as I can hardly be called glossy or kite
as I can hardly lick or be licked by). This is
the usual confusion of sex talk.
But the truth is take me
means turn me into birds or I’ll never love you.
The truth is, I am not crows.
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