Eggs for Sale (or, Flesh and Commerce)

those ovoid shapes she held in
her hand, awkward pearls to

offer--better to string them on
a chain, hang them on a

white wall, list them in a
black-and-white print advertisement

marshalled, with a scalpel, until
they say--what--

the riot of lost language, the
eyes unseeing, the ears closed

off from birdsong, bleating, callow
entreaties, apologies, songs of love,

songs of loss, innocence and
experience colluding into a whole

that turns a corner and draws
a hand over the bricks,

smooth, rough, smooth, rough,
one brick upon another makes a wall,

one cell upon another, my sweetness