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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

Late


——


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-


One

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


Guilt

Some of you strength still exist wondering


How a fig is baked

Into a pie


O black­-

Birds


I deep affection you

But maybe I’m not


Singing

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

Scallop-necked


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

Nothing


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


Arrow-straight

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


Innocent


——


But if l don’t ask

The silence grows


& when I lift my own

There they bloom


O raucous

Red


To frostbitten limb

Till soggy pear


& still when the hour dated comes

Never disappear


But flush

Again


First bud at spring

Perennial


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-


Stand

When I tell you


She said

Names.

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