Talking to Mama About Boys

Logan February

after Sappho

Osun, sweet mother of sweeter waters,
where is your mirror, your gilded blade
with dripping honey? I want to kill a man

with my golden sadness, line
my vengeful eyes with his blood and say
I am a young god. Because the one I love

is wronging me. Because he wears
my desire on his finger to save and to keep.
My bridegroom, my goldcrowned prince.

I kingdomed him around my neck
and begged: never leave me. Alone,
I drown in my reflection. With him

I would be a queen, a consort.
Trade his regal jewelry for colorful
feathers to wear in my hair.

I’m greedy for the simple things.
I wanted an unopened box of eternity,
lovely children as far as the eye could see.

I have such a crazy heart—once, I dreamed
I had no eyes. Everything was delectable
sparrowsong, even the mob beyond my door.

My beloved sang to me of smoke
and blue smoke, it was so beautiful
I started to die. For the sake of

my dream’s trajectory, I woke to the brown
warmth of his body adorning my bed.
Like a goddess I crept close, kissed him:

awake to me, my love. Because of love,
the painful flaw is forgiven. Because I prayed,
the radius of my thirst grew smaller.