my ocean like a god never recedes / / but sometimes it withdraws / for a brief breath-holding / leaving the lagoon alack / / the fish gut-sputtering
Mother, I wrote a poem in which I forgave / your sin of omission, your fear of the truth.
Because takeoff so quickly morphed / / into landing, because the sky so quickly became a bridge and then a body / of water
You find the cracks for me—the small space / behind the triangle of peeling wallpaper, / / the crevice in the plaster, the air between / one page and the next. O Lady, show me / / the hidden.
Your Godmother, Almost Blind, / crochets away / the news / of your day.
But She can’t help / this rainbow: strong / / at both ends, / every color equally / present.
