Okay. So maybe I'm jaded these days.
Follow it back in history
over aprons and cake mixes
and blue-eyed baby dolls,
and nights spent in factories
and in smoky bars
through narrow berths in stinking holds
or lofty staterooms above,
to cramped cottages
or up the castle stairs
in and out of beds with bolsters
or simply bracken,
past casks of wine
and gold coin of every realm.
See the lifting of a veil.
Hear the whisper,
Trust me.
Trace it all the way back
to the promise of a missing rib
and see the unfolding
of all broken hearts.
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