child / parent

mother, father
they are a basket brimming with fruit

it fills me
feeling love for the first time
in father’s cool reserve
telling me already things i should not have heard

mother, the ember, slowly burning through the carpet
and no one is looking
see the orange, dying light
that is mother’s dull shine

“everyone their own patient
and own surgeon” ring around
your finger, my finger

consciousness came to us by fractions
and was made by the shatter
of voices who gathered tandem
the rules of form

so there are no bad poems and there
are only good poems

time to begin working; i am up
and pregnant in the morning
stepping strange and heavy
to the bathroom, eager
to get you here, angry
to finish this

for the child
who looks in the mirror
to hate me, sometimes
and slowly regains trust
in the deviant gods
who brought her here

that was us,
mother and father


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