ANCESTORS
BY ANNIE JACOBSEN
Mother,
A golden thread
Looping in and out of darkness.
Your bones, heart, skin and breasts
Have died and been reborn,
This body is your testament.
From where did I arise
With these million voices on my lips,
A siphon of your consciousness?
At night we dream of each other
Like holding mirror to mirror,
Eclipse.
No comments:
Post a Comment