I know I am a mother
because I have had so many
things escape my body.
Today my daughter sits on cold
tile. Her knees, a dry aftertaste.
I brush her hair. It
tangles. The dark coiled silk,
Tough like mine.
I brush her hair, because she asks me to.
Because if I do not, she will cry—wither maybe.
And my heart is too soft to hear such terrible sounds.
I am her mother after all. I did make her in my body.
I must care for her, tend to the knots.
Health & Illness
a figure of speech in which words repeat at the beginning of successive clauses, phrases, or sentences
a metaphor that extends through several lines or even an entire poem