She was already dead, you see.
She did it just to get away
From the heavyness of men in their certainty
And the brittle, tight smiles of efficient women.
She could mine as much love from a wall or a rock,
So she lay down in the gentle earth
And whispered to the roots of violets in the moonlight.
When young girls come to smoke behind the headstones,
She will open up her bones and release
The Big and Little Dippers,
And all the rest--
To take a turn as if it were some ballerina's birthday.
The young girls are the only ones who see it;
They squint and smile and say,
And flick their butts across the lawn