My Mother Says I'm Like Water

Mar 02, 2008 - 14:33 PM PST

She is a broken marionette doll,
Marlboro Red limp from her thin lips
the ash drifting from the end

the dust that never settles on the road.

Her fingers drum oak. Her eyes
refuse to reflect in the mirror
of my eyes

In these moments
these familiar words
I see my mother:

Her fresh tan
with summer’s heat
iridescent beneath
the blue waves
a jelly fish.

As she emerges
from the cool current
the hands of an older boy
grabs her shoulders
and forces her under.