घुड़सवार

that sneaks the wrong kind of glances

at my mother's friend's

daughter

whenever they visit for afternoon teas

and goes swimming in the lake by the woods even

when it bleeds

and reads dangerous things

and hides them up in the attic

(burning the dangerous things–which it cries are just books–

certainly doesn't help my mother)

and the wild thing changes its men like

time is irrelevant

but when it finally does settle

it sneaks the wrong kind of glances

at its husband's

sister

and months dissolve

to spring, then to winter

but the wild thing can't have and hold

can't have and hold, so then one night

its husband cracks

its head on the dining table

and his sister slaps him hard

and takes it away to her fiancé's place

where in the garden

there's a small fountain

where the next afternoon

when the water doesn't run

the wild thing sits with its husband's sister

who stares ahead

at the grass

and a breeze

picks up and sweeps the dark tendrils of her hair across her face

and the wild thing turns to the clear water

its fingers curled into its dress

and watches its reflection

watches it breathe

and stare

and be dead

and then squinting

the wild thing leans on its hands

and reaches closer to the water

feels a warm hand at its elbow but

reaches closer, real close and see me? do you see me?

and the wild thing dunks its head into the water