margin notes

birds in naked branches like mice slimy squirming in a tangle of hair. by open cupboard door sylvia stands vigilant with a knowledge i cant understand she waits and suddenly after one month rises trimphantly her trophy with blood and snapped neck. she looks for it for days after once we throw it down onto the lawn. i sit with her and we sit and she sits and she waits and I watch and try to learn, she says mum i have to go out on my own and makes her deer leap up and away her head still spun towards me smiling if its possible with her thin lips. when she climbs up on my notes sniffs candlelight and pushes velvet nosebud to my chin i break my heart with thoughts of her as daughter my gray girl. and he my old man sleeps on fevered bodies growing age and i feel strange guilt of not being able to speak to him. how do they move me more than men?