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.