she takes the hits,
the head bang against
the microwave, even
before you were born
she saved a little
room for you

the sleepy-eyed mistress,
bunker of pre-
adolescent skin made
for refuge, for covering
mothers, and you,
some other thing
of importance

you hunker down in
the lonely barracks
of sibling solitude,
hear the peaches and baby
girl, those outside
voices meddling in,
the chil’ and children,

and we, zygotes
of the same womb,
set sailing down
a stream of break-
ing tears

she, a step for me
to leave, follows
new men, un-
chambered with
a new squint at

old words, old wounds
we’re nearly healed
from. model girls
of a union
made of oil, vinegar
and holy water un-
capped and poured

back into the mouth
our one mother
to swallow & taste
the lasting bits
of herself