a poem
i became
my mother
a few lives back.
i soaked her
into my being
like a sponge —
like a fetus
in the womb;
like water on dirt;
like an inhale.
became a
thunderstorm
of a woman:
both rain
and lighting;
all noise and
all bite. when
my mother
decided to
become a cloud–
just hovering
there waiting
for her change
to be noticed
like a bruise,
she sent her
rage down to me.
i kept her
rage close
to me as
an heirloom
duct taped
to my soul.
i let it overflow
my being like
a kudzu vine.
i let it devour
me until its
green spines
reshaped me
into a soft shadow
of my mother.
