there's dust on her face
but she's a girl still
her sensible cotton shirt
is black and loose
and she's so wide now
the dreams and the limbs
strewn across the canvas of her days

cutting into her workman's hands
handles of rough bags
leaving white marks in her blood
still swelling
a little thicker now

stray hairs on her neck
that would have terrified her once
stand proud
just something that's here to stay
and she is not her own
she is her children's blood
and laundry days
and all those times she smiled
through tears
and patted little heads

she's more real the the ocean
she never saw
and just as salty
just as wild