My mother chewed her nails off, trying
to consume bones enough to
scrape away the
space that's always been
there.
She still remembers
from time to time when
she had to swallow
the whole earth
just to feel full.
She found herself afraid of her ribs.
So she built a panic architecture,
calcifying her lungs, breathing in
nearby rocks and tree branches,
scattering the animal hosts in
her spinal fluid.
By now the elephants
have multiplied,
stampeding through the open
cracks in her ventricles.
There could be time zones
in the cracks
but just the ones that are
still sleeping.
About once a month I worry
I'll turn into her.