I grew inside of you,
inheriting your black hair and high cheeks.
Your mischievous mouth and sharp tongue,
cutting men into slivers.
Your lofty laughter rises as they turn the other way in shame.

I survived outside of you,
two months too early.
A fragile ember, latching onto you like tinder.
I took your strong legs and boyish stance
long strides on a path neither of us could see well.

I have your blood and your breath and your life.
Clones and clones of mitochondria.

Yours and mine, we
are each other.

But Mother, you cannot live in me,
as I did in you.
My skin is hot and burning,
my spark now a blaze.

Even the wind of your laugh
And water of your blood,
I will boil and consume until it is all vapors and dust.