So, I am impolite
I am polite.
As father was with, an open clenched kitten’s paw.
Honed to strength of aged claw.
OUR only diagnosis a home where the fishy scales dry…warm and raw
Both my father and I…a seamstress, a tailor with a dull needle.
Tethered together…venomous spelunkers in a dry well.
Scratched in tongues so wide and red.
OUR bloodline canvasses a coyote grey and turquoise blue. aligned to the crimson lies we tell….
From outside a generation’s thought tanned knuckles, rosebud cheek, thorny wishes down a wishing well.
From outside a generation’s thought, I lay in a casket made of crib ribbons and no pillow for my head.
And, my mother’s resourcefulness vows to lay with the dead.