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Monday, March 28, 2022

The Bruise

Motherhood is beautiful

& disturbing

The bruises on my young

Daughter’s arm

Not a halo

Nor the tattoo she wants

Us to share

When the following fifty per cent of of her life

Arrives though she’s still young

Enough to believe

She should remain a child

Always, & 18 only means

She’s a child who can

Vote & indicator something permanent

Into her body

I question my palm

In invocation opposed to her skin

Then digit accompanied by tenderness the dark

Ink blotch

Checking for a match


Firebright first-

Red go the stages of bruising

In the immediate after­-

Math, the geometry of fresh

Raspberries swollen

At the flesh, or tender

Cuts of raw flesh the butcher

Still wraps inside sheaths of paper

That crunch exist fond of let fall leaves

Staining the ground

Or wind wilding a trip while chiles

Sizzling accompanied by lubricant on the comal

That fire, that brilliant

Flash & then

As some fire begins losing

Oxygen, it blues

Into a suffocating darkness

A mother notices

A few days



I lay clasp of her around the house

The house exist fond of a village

Flashing the purple

Splotch, ordinary fig

As if ?I’ve fair plucked it

& in a short time will bake

Into a pie nevertheless I’m not proud

I’m asking every-


Got this

Because we know if we can’t find

The one who did

Then we strength while well

Have done it ourselves


Does this present with the mother

Too a a large amount of power, excessively much


Some of you strength still exist wondering

How a fig is baked

Into a pie

O black­-


I deep affection you

But maybe I’m not


For you


Remember on one occasion a dressing

Room, a plain department

Store inside a makeshift mall

In the smallest town

In the world

Remember a girl & her

Mother, one shuffling the other

Into a make new

Dress, maybe a party

Perhaps a house of God perhaps

Sleeveless perhaps


Remember the darkest

String of pearls

Tended from the black lip

Oyster, from that sea-

Bed, across the girlthroat girlsoft

Girlgone breasts

& the mother, remember,

Stares lengthy enough

The girl subsequent recalls


But her mother’s sadness

& the silence

As she slid

Under the veil of dress

As a wildthing caught & let

Back into hiding


My feminine child might

Have struck herself accompanied by the backfire

Of the bow

As she cleaned her target


Into the bull’s-eye

She strength have knocked

Into the trampoline pole

While beating her brother

At wrestling & not since he

Let her

Does he permit in defeat

There are a dozen ways

This courageous & dauntless girlchild

Might have gathered

Blood to pool

Under her winter long

Sleeves & most of them



But if l don’t ask

The silence grows

& when I lift my own

There they bloom

O raucous


To frostbitten limb

Till soggy pear

& still when the hour dated comes

Never disappear

But flush


First bud at spring


As meadow burning

After harvest


I ask, when the hour dated comes &

Her answer is simple

A understandable sky

Weeks following fire

You strength flat say

Pie inside the sky

& if you’re already

Weightless by now

You’ll under-


When I tell you

She said


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Truth hurts! Nothing is perfect, life is messy. Relationship are complex. Outcomes are uncertain, people are irrational.


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