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I take off my raven coat
smoothing the feathers
with black fingers
in silence.
Now I am
how you want me to be.
If not, we wait
to conjure up the right words.
They sneak between us
like wild mice
and roll the dark pumpkin
to the middle of our bed.
Without thinking
we grab knives,
carving faces into a fluted skin
deeper than we can see.
The seeds do not spill into our hands.
You hold up a candle.
I show glistening eyes
and a narrow mouth.
What now will lead me to ask
the trick question:
How can I be
what you want me to be?
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