The stories on her skin

person holding fruit
Photo by Matthew T Rader on Pexels.com

 

Where do I begin with these stains on my mouth?

To talk about myself    what I have lived

I am holding up like a cardboard cut out

Melancholy restoration,

a standing melting pot of flavor

Raw turmeric and lemon

 

My mother gave me lemons for the basket on my head

I’ve turned her wisdom into cabbage soup

A soup that is poured into my dreams at night

The heat comforts the empty gaps

Of maternal love

 

Where do I begin. Tracing back steps

Finding myself through my mother’s words

Finding my mother through her eyes

and the stories on her skin

I watched my mother exit windows

through childhood and come back in the morning

I watched her turn mud into breakfast

 

Where do I find time to thank her for me?

How do I turn the tears into prayers?

wish for my mother’s recovery

How do I

Recover for my mother

 

Where do I start the quest to return her lemons?

Mother I am making you the lemonade

you promised me

Mother I am finding you

the words tattooed on my tongue

 

I am healing with soft sage

Practicing how to hold your fire in my hands

So that I can come home

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