it is always
mitigation with you,
always putting out fires but
never trying to prevent them
letting the sagebrush grow
just enough that you can
consume it again


but i thought you were the adult
here


i thought being an adult meant
knowing how to love
like really
love without hurting
each other


you yell at me from across
the table &
even in the dim light
i know there are eyes 
on us


& in silence i stare at
you & marvel
that of all the conceptions
occurring in the year of 1994,
of all the uteruses &
fetuses to inhabit those uteruses
& consciousnesses to inhabit those fetuses
God decided to give me
to you


it hurts too much to think
there was no method to this


again, you apologize
& allow the act in itself
to forgive you


you snore heavily in the car
as i drive us home.
while you dream i wonder
when i will finally say
it’s okay

clockwork heart
beating to the rhythm of 
your affection, 
i am everyone else’s 
property but
my own by the age of
four.

a mannequin child
a dress-up doll, 
a dog small enough to 
carry in a purse. but
i don’t bark– 
i’ve been well-trained with
self hatred and
your back to my face. 

i bet you didn’t know 
you’d shrink– disappearing; 
the sun drying you
like a raisin until
you shrivel.
i no longer feel
so small. i no longer seem
so weak.
you no longer seem so right.
you are not my god anymore.
 
i will run barefoot
across the yard with
my hair down and shirt untucked.
i will breathe a little
too deeply and know for once
the only lungs
i can burst are my own.

mother // a.s.m