trust me with my own body

or what is left of it--
re-loving yourself is so much
like looking in a window--
i watch myself
take off my overall dress--
next, my knee high socks--
i wrap my shoe laces 
around the banister
as i creep downstairs to 
sneak out past the television's
night time vigil over
the living room as it tries 
to comfort the house with infomercials. 
i lay naked in the backyard
again-- an act of self-eviction.
the grass prickles me
like my own leg hair &
i don't notice all the bugs
like when i was eight
& my own freckles were too
loud to feel the soft
feet of ants or jupiter beetles--
i replace my femurs
with the connect-the-dots
of constellations-- 
i'm the big dipper
for you to fill with cold
soup or vanilla bean ice cream--
the cancer that grew claws 
& cut off orion's belt
to make a sling-shot--
i use it to fling softballs
into my neighbor's windows--
sometimes mental illness feels
like you're your own real estate 
agent-- only you're looking
for what place you used to
call your body--
every day brings another musty
type of rain-- the kind of rain
that smells like rotting books
& luke warm tea--
peel open the book spines 
looking for the way your own back used
to bend like the stitches
of a softball-- the window
breaks & the house fills up
with cricket prophecies & jupiter
beetles trying to hold
onto what was left of the moon--
there's a 'for sale' sign 
painted in red on my chest--
but that was always there--
he painted it on when he tore
off my shirt-- when he first 
used his claws to clip 
off my bra-- a sling shot
cut from orion's waist--
i only use my bras to throw softballs
now 
since he used mine as a 'for sale'
sign-- i've been up 
& down this street four times tonight
& none of these bodies
remind me of my own-- so
i lay down again-- set back to work 
replacing each bone with 
a pair of stars clasping hands--
my hips were made from the 
bodies of the gemini twins--
i feel like them-- like 
a mirror breaking into itself--
begging the red out of skin--
trust me with my own body again--
wherever it is i'll pull
it piece by piece
from the teeth of ursa major--
from the belt buckle of 
orion-- taking off his stars
to stand bare-bodied
in the heat of the moon--
there is no bed room to go
back to-- only a yard 
where the stars ascend in
the bodies of the fireflies--
i catch one in my cupped hands--
press her back into the
sky-- she dangles like a light bulb
on a string--