A Pilates Instructor Says Hold There and Pulse


Raccoons like to wash what they steal.

Their little human hands turning a delicious thing over.

Little human hands that worry a thing out of their grasp.

Stone fruit found in the morning, bobbing in the pool.


The pit at my core can polish up nice like a horse chestnut.

The pit in my stomach is dug so deep

that the glossy vipers rippling down there

are often mistaken for water at the bottom of a well.


If I was warmblooded and beholden, you’d be

something to thieve, to make clean, to lose hold of. 

But cold and lithe, I’m asking to be coiled into you.

To writhe in a dark that makes us water, out of reach.