The Feast.(Poem)

 
THE FEAST 
 
   I go back to the eve 
   of my eighteenth birthday, 
   open the grey curtains 
   and let moonlight flood in 
   as I unscrew the mirror. 
   It's thin and narrow 
   as a silent girl 
   who never leaves her room, 
   only four feet tall 
   and shakes as I lay it 
   flat on my bed. 
   I wait until it's smooth 
   as a silver picnic cloth 
   on a white altar, 
   then unfasten my rucksack, 
   bring out my treasures. 
   There's the silky bag 
   of a saturnian cocoon to slit, 
   nine fat moth larvae 
 ...