I celebrated yesterday
that my mother is still alive, like how plants exist
and the sun has not fallen from the sky yet.
She has broken six bones.
She has had six different casts, all were green
but her favorite color remains purple.
She shattered the porcelain of our toilet once
with her torso and lost two ribs,
she was basically a man who can **** his own ****.
I picked her up every day
except for yesterday, because she is still alive
almost as miraculous as Mother Nature.
Cows have the ******* of Mother Nature
delivering spotted babies who do not **** sweet milk
worker bees after labor, laboring
packing their new udders with fresh, sweet milk.
I never ****** from my mother’s breast
either, I am basically a cow she’s basically a man
I mixed my own formula in pink bottles.
She asked what my favorite color is yesterday.
It was the first time,
I said, “it is still pink,” but she said
she thought it would be blue because I am a feminist.
No, no, but yesterday I was only her daughter.