strangers sit and stare, back and spine
curved on the wicker seats.
two generations of a girl slumped across,
the butts of cigarettes
singe and crawl upon their careless toes
which twitch with the dying light

women let sweet honey from their lips
into these hollow ears of mine and
once more my dis-regret
blossoms through my *******
the sky is heavy
and kind with heat, some sort of spark to
set alight a new delusion
hidden well inside this evening

mother is now etched in ash
against the white wallpaper
the quiver of legs that weren't her own
still rest their due weight in my hands
and across my own
the nights i stripped and wept
myself without ease into the dark
hold no difference to my
mornings meant to wear my tears
as welcome as spiders knit
into my lashes.

pale and blotchy skin arrests my form
becoming my mother seldom took so much
that i remember
blood red inside and stiff to touch
someone has already stuffed me
and put me on display?
even so, their fervent project need not resume
until the last of my ribs
crumple under my

weightlessness.