Sentences for Mothers

Tell me how long you rusted underground, your five links remembering the iron chain you once completed, before a mother dug you out of the garden.

She dreamed you could nourish a soup.

Let me go, her son once yelled on the dark highway, holding the loose end of her chain in his own hands.


Tell me, mothers of the four winds, to which direction blows your voice?

Where have I heard that sound before? Through old windows? A child’s train?

I blow my own wind through a whistle made of many women.


Where is my other half, the clam shell wonders, half a world away from the Spanish beach my daughter walked 12 years ago.

O, Venus, throw her back to me!


Behind the molded drywall of the old bathroom: a faded photo of a girl in a cotton collared dress and braids, discarded razor blades, the carcasses of birds who lost their way.

Never have I worn a dress hand sewn and pressed by my own mother.


A Kenyan woman gave her daughter bracelets, hand-beaded in blue, black and pearlescent seeds, a prayer for her wrists as she crossed the Atlantic.

At what moment did the girl, now grown, decide to give them to me?


Leave a Reply