her breath

This is how the Girl holds her breath.

There's the night when it never stopped raining
cracking at the windowpanes
tearing up the glass

                 The Woman is fisted,
                 folded with uncertain blows.


I say her weeping skims the water on the stove
always boiling a dinner for four
first chopping then rinsing
She is counting the lines on the cutting board.

There's the night when
she never stopped breathing
stretched bare over the linen,
Her skin working against heat.

Scathed over round surfaces,
where ordinary touch please Him
and Her.

This is how a Girl holds her breath
sick for it, saturated---uncertain and blue
the color of eternity


                and Mother.



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