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stand still. Pretend you’re a plant. Stand still and wait quietly. Hold out your hand.

I'm searching for you, mother in the roots that ground my feet and in the arbor of my fingers reaching up into your light. Surely, it must be you in the core of my twisting trunk that has turned this way and that in yearning? I search for you, mother but only find ghosts I left behind; caught in the wake of my hungry quest they join me in my searching. Some, with empty eyes and some with frozen hearts, but all with lithe and ready limbs aflame and burning. I search for yo

at my first memory— laid on a bed bottle in mouth I drift to sleep. I wake up to dampness pressed against my cheek. My milk has spilled and anger fills my little chest; I call to my Other who bends over me a full moon in a dark sky. I make my commands: precise, clear and neat. She nods in obedience as she picks me up and wraps me in her self.