Daughter, she says,

We talk
past each other
the low
kitchen wall
splits me farther
from you
on the porch

Your pierced ears
hear my words
in black and white
and reddened lips
snub my
protective tarp

They bite off
anger
when my own
are raw with wishes
that you
heal wholly
yourself
If you let me
hold you

On the Yoga Mat

I breathe pain past my lungs

it settles on my thighs.
Dew springs to my eyes.
I neither stop nor go
but slow the urge to
thunder forward without
pause.