This is not another snag at my mother,
I scan the contours of my pelvis
from a wide set mirror.
I am bathing but I have stood up.
We had a circular cutting board—
the mid drift of an adolescent tree,
a slice of deli ham, the smallest ringlets
dense, wiry bone.
I would bathe in the V between her legs,
resting a wet elbow on her freckled knee.
She would scatter valentine candy or whatever
was left, dusty pink and red hearts
on the floating block: a snack for the chore.
When I bend a knee my bones frame my ass
almost as beautiful as her shapes,
the skeleton, my first home on this planet.
Today I am proud.
Her mind shifts with alertness, bright, keen
a birth from a crystal, a cracked diamond
spills forth a vulnerability, porousness
a willingness to receive my emails
and donate to community organizers.
The extra months of heat made rot
and let decaying beasts roam
with hot blood in their nostrils.
Is also encouraged a few more lavender buds
to bloom from my mothers’ ears, listening.
She will catch up and join us soon.