They said rub the smoke
and seeds of chillies
across your breasts,
pastes of mustard and oil;
phylacteries to encourage
cleaving. They said take
your shirt off and leave it
on the pillow before going
away. One of them will howl
for an entire day before giving
her mouth to the surrogate.
Another will turn her face
to the wall, curling her toes
inward. The third will whimper
into your ear or the telephone
each time the shadow of a bird
crosses the field. Though they
have grown, you feel the guilt
that’s gelled in the marrow: how
it oozes out into melt each time
the body relaxes even just
a little bit into warmth.