Self Portrait as a Girl, Only Part Miracle

This air full of birdsong and chatter,
this girl only part miracle. He as the god

with many heads whose tongues swell
from all the lies pulled from them—

one thorn and nettle at a time.
He as a reminder that sweetness

is only a prelude to pain: what he
couldn’t love, he sent back out

into the jungle, let the animals
have at it. This: the price of freedom.

This: the remnants of love. Your mother
tells you over and over — don’t be just a girl.

You wish she’d teach you something
that would make you belong to this world.