I've been wanting to nurse something lately
that's demanding and unforgiving.
This is not a baby.
In fact, I spent months with a sack of fertilizer on my hip
to realize what a burden just holding the thing would be.
Maybe nursing it would be as a friend
described giving blood—the feeling of refilling
yourself and freshening up
down to the bones.
Maybe it would be a dog
filled with the ghosts of my ancestors.
Maybe it would be a hangover
filled with the ghosts of my ancestors.