We Are Talking of Fever

Little light, little bird
let me tell you a story. Cup, by small cup
I’ll pour into you. Now open.
Now open your mouth.
Here is the way we begin
once there was a girl there’s always a girl
sometimes there’s a prince.
Now give me your throat
bend to the wolf
this is easier really
then telling the story
to open my mouth.
I want to be the wolf but I am not.
Neither am I the girl, you’re always the girl
unless you’re the fever, red flush
coming over the fields like fire.
I’m the cup. Here is the story.
A girl carries the bucket to the well
but there’s no bottom, the water
follows her like a line, a road
she must travel. The child
does not want this story.
She’s not the princess
hungry for blood, she wants more
of the wolf, more of the hunger.
Her smooth canine, her white mother,
where is the prince?
This is a story of two, the boy is not here.
The girls are adding on to each other.
One is the water.