corset maker's nest

i tied a knot around the moon until
she severed in two. i tried all i could
to put her back together. tape & glue
& even a photograph of my father 
as a child. i try to keep track of all
the smallness. make my case to the fawns
to not get older. to not put the cd wrack
on you head & run i like i do.
in high school i put my girlhood on
& went to the mall to try on corsets
with my friends. we had one changing room.
our shadows shrunk. i was the only one
who didn't buy one. i lied & said
it was because i didn't have any money
but the truth was that i was terrified.
i saw how, just with bone & ribbon,
i could be stuffed into myself. now i like
to watch videos about corseters. see their waists
turn into moons. this is not erotic but
just practice. i want to know the technique
for splitting in two if i need to. i have 
done it before. on instagram i follow a turtle 
account. a turtle is born connected 
to his brother. two sides of a moon. 
they both move their arms as if they're swimming, 
the water, not able to hold them. i search desperately
for a video of them apart. wholeness is 
a myth of gender. i want the story to be over.
the reveal. their delight in two separate moons.
instead, there are no more videos on 
the account. i loose the second moon
in my scrambling. the one we have left
is the one we have left. my friends wore 
their corsets to bed, trying to squish 
their innards together. i was full of regret.
not just for not getting the corset but
for the ways my body refused me. in the window
the second moon was wading into
a little pond behind my friend's house. 
she was singing with the bull frogs. she was
glowing like a liver in the dark.