For Mothers of Daughters Who Have Become Strangers

I stretch myself thin, flat on a canvas so you may easily perceive me

I polish and polish the painting, as if you were the commissioner

Erase all my depth, my warmth, my being

I am just a failed forgery of her design

I carry you with me

A vintage mirror distorted and yellowed

Each generation prior having given a dissatisfied twist

The brass straining my anxious wrist

My young vines reach for your great trunk,

But like razor blades your bark leaves me in shreds

Still I am drawn to you like the moon reflecting the sun

I forget—and see the floor is littered with broken

Your plumage providing shelter from the storms, I learn,

I can only bear from afar yet

I beat my paper wings against your dense canopy

They tear in the struggle but I know the taste of open skies.

One day I felt around and found a hardened spot,

just beneath my soft flesh, a rotten pearl I’ve made of you

An alien within me, I despereately preserved

I suppose I’m afraid of letting you go

When we’re forced together because our souls are forever entangled,

I harden and empty it of my precious

My Soul flinches in anticipation of you

I want to love you.