I’ll take that rib while he’s asleep.
He’ll never miss it
and will soon prefer its newfound shape,
its whispers and concerns,
its wise and withering asides,
its interest in future generations.
Oh, I like the sound of this already.
If I had a rib, I’d give it up—
a fair exchange for so much bounty.
I would crown that crooked timber of a bone
with so much glory
you would almost think that she was God.