The Road to Desire is However Many Doves by Ellie Laabs

"These days, I try to love less like a maid."

The Road to Desire is However Many Doves
by Ellie Laabs

When we drove off that day, the sky 
was waning and the chickens of the heart 
had just come home to roost. For weeks, 
I ran my hands under water until my skin 
became the space where gravel used to be. 
All night, the darkness wove in spruce and howl. 
My gut splintered like a walking stick. After 
the gold rush, any narrative of servitude is easier 
than the truth. These days, I try to love less
like a maid. My solace lets its fingers out far—
the sigh of stallions in their pen, the scent
of pent-up longing. When you hold my hair 
in your hands, I picture the real world. 
Something golden and burning.