childless, i
humble into wifery
locating pictures
of myself when you were
everywhere; my underwear,
inside my shoes.
my child, you're dead
in an inevideable
simple way
so boring i should have kissed
your head stone
on that sheet. but the
uncovering truth of how you were
savaging everything i
owned and forcing me to
ransack my ability to love makes me crave the
routine of being
your mother.
interrupt my life again,
forgo your prematurity,
and take your baby fists out of the dirt
into my mouth.
lullaby me like momma did.
eat my last piece of toast.
don't do your homework.
your failures are the sorrows i'll
only hope to have helped you
understand.