"What to Tell the Sleeping Babies"
There’s too much
spilled milk in the world—
you will catch yourself
sucking away at it. Its tidal wave
will send you hurtling toward boarded houses,
closed mouths. So drink
rain water; drink from your shoes.
There is too much
bottled water in the world.
Dip your spoon in pothole soup
when you have a craving
you can’t quite
place. Follow the ants home.
There is some solace in their small dark line—
every night
you will die a star’s death.
Get used to it.
There’s too much light in the world.
One day you will cry over
a peeled orange. Hold its bright
ripped skin in your hands.
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