Mothers and Daughters
Living a life hard as dirt,
my mother became a blue mountain.
In the end, she was a quiet bird.
In the end a cathedral bled into sky.
My mother taught me how to survive
and then disappear like a cloud.
For years my mother showed me
how to fly in dreams
until my daughters—
born in a room old with indigo—
showed me their world
inside drawings of trees’ leaves.… Read the rest