Puckerbrush Press

who you were

very definitely not your mother but an old woman

with the weight ya ya ee of the world behind her

crawling up her back / she's said yes to the lizard

of the senses and her sanity's unlocked it travels

through her feet it pulls dust up and curls a foetal

tendril / strain her face has worn and white eyed sorrow

stares at her her trust is there and then it  moves her

in a rent lilt / ever has she clenched and grunted

up this ladder the design coevals time now we have it

for our hair to grey on bias the night blare / belly

rolls and howl this is no she for other than the earth

to know she wraps her kin in musty fold and squats

by the dneiper / cradle rock old images will sort

but not to meaning not to gold saliva