What’s blood anyway, just a river waiting to sick.

Orphan turns strangers to mud, quakes the earth

cancer stalks each woman in your life to her grave.

You & the doctor got different definitions of family

so papers asking for bloodhistory stay empty.

Oh well. Let’s put away the death waiting to happen—

it always gets into everything. It wasn’t so bad, really.

Ramen seasoning flavoring your morning eggs

& sure, there was Ullu who quieted your knees to prayer

forts built with a knife as the key. & the latch

to the neighbors’ barbeques, strangers lazy-susaning

you on laps & whispering: I could be your mom if you need one.

& yes, of course you needed one. & in the end,

you managed to get all the mothers you could ask for.