The Mischief Crying 

// I can't hold myself in the palm of my hand // 

// I am selfish, I want to keep your son for myself // 

 

// I am once again littered with little infections // 

// I can't resist the open wound // 

 

// Why can't somebody else bring me in from the rain? // 

// Why should I wear my own coat? // 

 

// My body drops the dying things like leaves //  

// We are all our friend's mothers // 

 

// For all I desire to be, I am ugly // 

// I rue the day I fled the nest //

 

// My body drops the dying things like fledgling feathers // 

// I leave the landing light on all night // 

 

// I am full of hatred // 

// I resent the friends who did not believe me // 

 

// And why must we raise such ungrateful sons? // 

// And why must we answer for their fathers sins? // 

 

// I am suspicious. I am bitter. I am starved //

// My throat is an open wound // 

 

// Why am I the magpie? // 

// Why must I be capable of feral deeds? 

I do not want to think of all I would do for my spite // 

 

// I am disgusted by my own sentimental ways // 

 // The first note of a song I loved before I loved you 

still reduces me to tears // 

 

// If I sit at this kitchen table all night  

will you come downstairs to comfort me? // 

 // I would deceive you everyday, I am a woman // 

 

// I am treacherous, sore and miserable // 

 // I am a thief conspiring against you, won't you let me 

stay the night? // 

 

// I am not pretty when I cry // 

// My throat is an open wound. // 

 

// There is horror in every moment I have known 

since I misplaced my girlhood // 

 // I know exactly where I left it // 

 

// My body drops the dying things like fledgling feathers // 

// Why can't somebody else bring me in from the  

rain?// 

 

// We are all our friend's mothers // 

// Why can't somebody else bring us in from the  

rain? //