Everything is strange, she whispered in my ear
and I agreed. Ten years is long enough
to snarl one’s thoughts into pleasant bows
or leave a gaping hole where traffic once stalled.
My mother is no longer flesh, she is the realm
of tissue and muscle that I do not hold
in my conscious, greedy palm. We are strung
apart now, I dangle in the way of other bodies,
we start and stop and wait; we listen for the growth
of our hair and nails, our brains, even. Now
you are hog tied to the milky way, your brilliance
is masked by your own two hands and the silence
silence silence of your wrists. They love you,
remember this after 3 AM.  Remember to
keep the darkness in your marrow.