your mother the protector
of rivers, silk for hair and
knives for teeth. body burning but
head remains, grey scales illuminated red.
the saints mount her to the walls of
your room, fear our god or
face her fate.

I wish I wrote you
the way I felt
you, skin bruised and
unforgiving,
teeth stained with
old lipstick and cigarette smoke, your
eyes barely closing when you try to
sleep. I wish I wrote you the
way I felt you, all sharp
breaths and whimpers, nails dug deep
under my skin.