Sunday 15 August 2021

Sampoorna Gonella, Poetry 2021 Magazine

 How I Resemble My Mother

Eager to be an amalgam of answers
to everyone's requests, we tilt our bodies
in the direction of command, smile still
intact. Our voices do not climb past a
half-register before they are shown their
place. Internal voices continue their
bitter ascent. We wrap our words in
<insert sunshine metaphor here> at
the slightest hint of someone's tears.
Our breaths are just a little shallow, a
little too eager. We plant thoughts
and watch their roots grow wayward.
When did I get here? I grew up watching
her worries deepen into her skin, hoping
to trace my own parabolic path. Every year,
it stubbornly bows into a circle.

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