My mother’s cold hand is my home
I have always lived in it 
And my limbs feel bent out of shape each time she misplaces my name
Caught in her throat like a rip tide.
Forever a trying presence, it would seem 
Shame is thick, and hot when it curdles
And her eyelids become hooded when she is disappointed
You must remain on the back of my tongue

Most nights are spent panting with affliction at the absence of her sincerity 
Still, I shower with my eyes shut to remember every inch of your face
For if they were open, and they are not
It would be sin to the God hanging above our kitchen sink
And I would have my teeth for breakfast
Those disdainful eyes skin me bone to bone 
They tell me lovers are sick people

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Published 13th July, 2024.