To tell it now, I'd say my lovers had been delicate and numerous
as the rib bones of a snake, yet I picked them like small apples
to carry in a covered basket, and I waited for the wolf.
Then there came the one that almost swallowed me whole until I
out his gold teeth and made myself a ring, blew out of his brick
house and built a rocking boat, named all the animals, and rested.
After leaving behind dolls and superheroes, I had armed myself
with a pickaxe and treasure map, bumped my head on the full moon
and finally found a velvet-lined violin case to curl up in.
It was that I had trouble at the market, choosing a fish for dinner,
until a friend told me this, said it slowly so I'd know it was
It's the eyes. You pick the one with the prettiest eyes.