WHO KNEW THE MOONS WOULD REMEMBER

Who knew the moons

would line up in that order

on the fourth-night-dream.

Who knew times

named adult, named child

would collide and split

like wood under

memory’s heavy edge

the hatchet blade

cutting

flesh,

then bone,

then flesh.

Three years old and

no memory of it but

the sharp side of mind

slices a woman into

trinity of

woman,

girl,

baby

the body-scarred, hard-skinned, grey-haired baby.

How could she ask to be cradled by her mother,

rocked to sleep,

suckled at her breast?