You'll learn he said
to see the butterflies
fly off your bracelet
You'll learn to see
the iguanas you cared
for all your life
pluck  out their own eyes
with their own tongues
You'll watch the mirror
that always carried your
face shatter to 1250 pieces
on the first or second or
fifth day of May
You'll cry over the
great shoes massacre
when you learn that
they broke their hearts
with heels, crushed
their necks with laces,
then you'll wipe
the sweat
off
your naked feet
And when the horse
you cried with last night
invites you
to his grave
You'll dream of rivers
without waters
And you'll wonder
why,
you were unpleased
with the cockroach
in your bath tub