I’m daughtering in place and it’s a full time job.
I'm a posable figurine, like a Barbie for my mom.
She's been shopping in a frenzy, to fill the empty hours.
I think we have an Amazon truck dedicated to our house.
I needed another closet so we took my sister's room
It looks like a Dior outlet-store or maybe King Tut's tomb.
"I think you've gotten carried away," I said to her last night.
Looking at all the loot arranged, she said, "you may be right."

I went home yesterday.
And I learned there's no
Home
Left to come home to.

There is no space for who I was.

Sometimes a person's leaving allows for new life to grow.

I don't trust this new home either. I can feel the mold under a new coat of paint.

But perhaps I am jealous.

Because my parents have each other.
My siblings have parents.

And I don't have Any Body.

As a child I was better at spousing, mothering and daughtering.

Today I am lost.
Journeying perhaps.

Becoming.