Who are the other mammals
with cloven cracked

chests who stitch
sharp darts 
in their flesh like I do?

Sinéad, I hear that you’ve had or adopted four children. Is it true?

Will Enya who is childless come look after you?

I’m hung on a white wall for all perpetuity but
with three more branches could rough out a room
with a dirt floor and in would crawl a refugee mother
to nurse her baby in safety. Sew an old torn glove
of a cloud overhead to hide the moon’s belly.