Where is my Mother?

Fish scales, lemongrass and cigarettes

Ash on my eyelids, closed until November

The bottom of her palm feels like tree bark

Sending spirts to the mountains, the men

March. One by one, two by two.

Bring your forest,  your back pocket is a

Great place to send your sisters.

Beans, circles and shooting stars.

This month has eaten 30 days.