through see-through sleeves
her mothers fist stained skin shows purple

in her mind she is swimming through
radio static very much like rays dissolved

glass everywhere and the ceiling she thinks of
a round window there & little flowers that rust

the very bad man has not yet become spiritual ash
though he died just after she spoke forgiven

into his body’s ear his body which she no longer belongs to
she tries to smooth the family over

for years she buttons up her mother & it rains as if nothing
has happened—some kind of howl

she confesses it all to gods waist