The marrow of my mother’s mother, the glowing stomach
Her twisted fingers unfurling over my mother’s womb –
I was born of light, a spectacle strange with spells and
Speaking tongues, barefoot swamp-born in plain cotton
Consulting with witches, consorting with angels.

Her belly looked like a peeled potato –
The bald baby asleep in its soft sack.

Unheard oracle awake where tenderness recoils from
The empty pit of a castoff love, the milk mother blood
Blood, blood between us, your love, blood-love.

When death comes for my mother, she will unfold
Like the white flower my father once found.