I will teach my daughters how to kiss with lit cigarettes in their mouths,
handle their bodies like shotguns stuck into burning ground.
They will be fire pits full of hot coals that men cannot bear
to walk over without searing their feet. Today I loosen
every chandelier in the house from their moorings, let them drop
to the floor and explode into light, kiss my husband with tongue
this time instead of with loneliness. It’s a strange feeling,
watching the ghosts of my former selves gather
in my living room like a séance. They compare love letters
from all of my ex-boyfriends, choose the best ones
to send to sea in a bottle. I will teach my daughters
how to mate with wolves instead of with men.
I will teach them how to hold breath like a song
inside their bodies and keep holding it for 22 minutes underwater,
the longest record as of yet. They will tack a whisper
on the bulletin board and pray to it instead of
to the boys that make them mix-tapes.