I’ve worn a killers boots And handed them down to my daughter The weary call it motherhood I’ve learned to see it as Resting her in a white- unstained - tub With warm- unfreezing - water To let my youth and dreams baptize her She says I’ve nearly drowned her That my hands have grown colder than the bathwater That my hums and hymns have lost their power over her Does she not know my nails have caught the loofah Having no where else to go & nothing else to do I’m forced to wash her womb clean? My love is no reed in autumn air It has roots strong like willow enough to shelter families enough to shelter families My daughter Does she know?
