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Desire: Chapter 1 
They met you in your body where you couldn't
go alone
�Brenda Hillman, "The Spark"
and you depended on them, once you found
what they could do their hands
despite the awkwardness (for a long time
there was awkwardness but you didn't know, having
nothing
to compare it to): those hands
with the half-moon nails, calluses
from the guitars the oars the
paintbrushes
what you found they could do I mean, you could
spend hours
just looking at their hands in lecture hall, on
steering wheels
and at parties. Even though until then
nothing had happened really� there was this idea first
that they belonged on you, in you (starfish of the
real,
the key to your release. Your adult life: this
thing
you were saving up for: incandescent)� unlike the
other girls, the ones
with their demure sweaters, and maybe the ones too
in the leather pants, both of whom
wanted only the smallest, simplest� You wanted
everything.
The luminous, the underwater. You thought their hands held the
spark.
No wonder, then: their turns away, the squinting
and shuffling.
The sea-green glow of your inner eye.
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