my skin sewn myth of mother
bowlegged and shrugging age
silent cries through two teeth.
small gasps of saliva swim stain
thick flesh colored cream on the cheeks.
i am her rib built body grown up foreign
she clutches me by the wrist
and by her
this once
i am raised.
she is my mother
a cellophane bag of want
wrapped around my chest.
strangers stand between
shuttling language from the downturned
corners of her mouth.
twenty five years of ready to say something first
and here she is heavy
on my shoulder small.
head nodding
i can only smile.
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