I breathed on the glass
of my other lives 
so I could write in the fog.

Replied yes to all,
baked cakes, swore off
certain unproductive behaviors,

such as this. I gave myself obscene permission,
then ran thudding back to safety, 
as if zombie-chased. Frequently, I used

the tent, the ear of corn. 
Never, if possible, irradiated cats 
or vicious laughter or any of the shocked humans.

When I first heard my child echo my voice—
No, no, no!—when speaking to my other child:
face with no good gesture.