Wet in lung spilling over. My mother,
she sees the ribbed spaces of herself in the structure of my breath.
Her legs are oak her legs are veiny lace her leg’s diaphanous
ache. Mold me for her diaphragm mold me always pushing up.
Our tumors don’t have voices, but were they to sing
it would be the fogged chorus of children.
Let your mouth fly, wasp the words of your mother. He forgets
their hum. Base bricks wet rot. Wretch to the fix
of your form, his shape in your shape. Replicate, turn and replicate hemorrhage
at relation’s spot. Shove the silence from the honey-colored room. Please
remove your hands from the gaping. Ask him
for a needle. My father, who does not sew.
Turn my shoulders corkscrew. Grace of
your helix. Twist the ladder, I split. I trade
in similarities. Come to this: amino. We share
this: beautiful code
and an unfamiliar roundness.
It’s the stepmother's idea, leaving the children in the woods. Box your brother’s head clean off. Fathers mistake their daughters.
We are lying to the children. Siblings clasp each other, dwarfish. Stepsisters shrink with knives. Tie your brother’s bones in silk.
Oh! the things we will do for wicked lovers. The mothers are dying. Always the eating.
Chew the liver of your children. Grandma's house. The wolves. The wolves.
The porcelain children
lean massive heads into terrors. Eyes too big pull faces
I imagine her praying.
to Mary's plastic. I don't imagine
him at all.
His is bread and butter. She is communion wafer’s melt.
She sends boxes, the fickle of other children.
There once was an old woman who lived in a shoe
Hold to the garments of Christ
as he relocates. She goes too.
My grandmother: she did not take
the apple from the tree.
He builds rockets. She counts rosary beads.