"A thinking woman sleeps with monsters.
The beak that grips her, she becomes. And Nature,
that sprung-lidded, still commodious
steamer-trunk of tempora and mores
gets stuffed with it all:"
"Snapshots of a Daughter-In-Law" by Adrienne Rich
A cooking woman sleeps with moths.
The sticky, dust fuzz that sticks to Clorox. Add webs,
that cling to rice, ceremoniously
like the coronas of kings, hand on beard.
The cheeze-its caught like mosquitoes.
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