The first three days of war
have a surprising holiday feel.
No deadlines, just the giddy gasp of shock.
Ordinary life continues.

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