as a bundle of batik cloth
you carried me
slung across your shoulders
a mess of curls and hungry crying
you sing me words I don’t understand
after the rain
you sweep the fallen leaves
with one arm against your back
and the weight of shadows you could not leave
at home
sleepy faced in a bowl of morning cereal
your fingers braid my bed head
with bright blue ribbons
that intertwine our worlds together
and then apart
red faced
shoes unlaced
i stumble through the door
tripping on sentences
you say nothing
but tuck me in
back in her homeland
she left her two children
only to gain two more
and when i leave for snow this August
i will be leaving not just one mother
but two