because emaciated by another miscarriage, mother limps the hospital halls, told the rape that scarred her insides was earned; she growls weak into my ear. I roll myself in clouds, six, seven, eight. I have been the shadow and light of each year, each star folding itself into a nipple caked with blood, but that is how we feed the ones we love, without a sound and when we can, so whatever water covers returns. Among trees, I scavenge pieces of my mother: a tooth, a tuft of hair. For each child she lost I named a doll and soaked it in the ditch. Danielle, Penelope, Joshua. 0 precious phantoms, do not shrink her into bones. I'll play you songs in A minor- sad and easy for your mouths like stringless lyres outside my window.
MOTHER IS A WOLF
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