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Momma, I am quarantine in your house
You are far away from this contagion
Writing to you, I want to sprinkle but I douse
I remove skin, no gentle microdermabrasion

Two bridal magazines from the one in my mess
Who I can’t help but let all the way in
Everything pink and white: pink (“white”) skin, white dress
Four hundred years of unacknowledged sin

I need the full hour but I was slow to rise
I forget that first words are hard to recover from
I forget that I need to fully clear my eyes
Of a life’s worth of never joining the scrum

Come to me, muse of the one I no longer choose
I am tired, awake early, and the coffee is slow to brew