Daughter of sometimes
I can feel my ears
slide to the top of my head,
pelted against my will
with the softest fur
Dumb, awful, offal-
soft daughter wobbling
around the longgone
space of Mother: Look,
she is here now—
On the other side
of the roses in the vase
on the sill and beyond
the window, a wall
is being hammered
No, no, do not flinch,
you are safe here
in the house, and mothered
by every construction,
every May lily rising
You know, you know,
but what, you say,
is knowing to a mind
like mine, formed
around the sight
of a blood-drain in the floor?
God bless her,
look at her go,
God bless her
She is still searching
for her trial by gentleness