On Sunday I was in an upstairs bedroom on the bed, being forced.
I saw us on the face of the mirror, the dune of our white flesh.
Afterward, I looked out through the window where it was summer.
The sky was cloudless, and under it vines twisted around the birdbath.
And a bird threw down its image on the grass. I thought of the world
unfolding itself in another country, of another girl's story--
not here, because I knew that God was in the yard,
because the yard was beautiful and he had stayed
mute among the monarchs.
from the book, Among the Monarchs (U Chicago, 2000)