Conscience
as taught her by the nuns   was a bridle
on a young girl’s tongue

Teenage years
everything begins
it never ends

I didn’t know what to do with all my dad’s love
so, I minded it for him fully intending to give it back one day.

Such a knife, a real Et Tu Brute number. Bone handled, incisive. Decades of marriage
had whetted the blade to feather lean. Anniversaries marked in metal.

My mother’s knife made the first cuts –
she removed my fertile light bulbs,
then stuffed my womb with shredded tissues.

god grant us the serenity / to accept the things we cannot change / the courage to change the / things we can / and the wisdom to know el differencio /

We searched so long for that clover.
Every time the sun shone we scoured
the fields and woods, running past
the children playing with skipping ropes

10 Children dart in the dark, screamers
            streaming sweets and neon, their parents