the evening turns to night.
a tangy darkness, a touch of aubergine.
shadows move richly on soft, deft strokes
into the places most lived on my hands.
i am sitting awake,
in the deeply sleeping home of my family.
my body flutters underneath me.
i run fingers through my hair,
touch the bruise across my thigh.
the heavy root of milky breast
hangs dense and fat over my abdomen.
i sense that i am not my own,
that my body still is hers.
the breeze moves from our screen
across her mouth,
open like the tiny sail
of a boat across the sky.
my baby cries so quietly.
she knows i am already there.
maggie may ethridge
one woman, telling the truth about my life