There were years I spent wandering the west side of Columbus, a sharp-tongued girl in too much eyeliner and flannel shirts from the men’s section that were only outsized by my too-many, messy feelings
Your children brought me to your doorsteps
a found and muddy thing
And you made space for me in your homes,
at your tables, in your plans
Me with swear words stuck between my teeth
Me, feral and ready for a fight
Me, chipped nail polish and crying in your bathrooms
You,
returning me to my own home as late as you could because
you caught the confessions I draped in crass jokes
You, seeing the unmothering in my fingernails
chewed to the quick
what a ghost town I would have been without you
what a collection of unfocused photographs
what a loss