her head is
heavy with soil
her children pick
wildflowers
from her ears
and leave them on
windowsills to die
the ocean air
in her chest
moves boat sails
flies small kites
blows bubbles
for curious hands
then pushes her
too far from shore
she cooks meals
over the fire
in her belly
and when they've
gone to bed
she sweeps the soot
under her ribcage
she waits for rain
fills their cups
before the
storm breaks
ushers them
inside and
drinks from
a puddle
Magic Mama 