mothers

My mother wears her wrinkles
the way an ocean wears a wave

She is the only body of water
that has stopped me from drowning.

my mother is shipwreck and sailor
my mother is sink and plug
my mother is the start of the darkest parts of
myself, and then the light.

my mother is the last drops of
a bottle i cannot conceptualise
finishing
my mother is anything and
every
thing,
she is
the only chemistry that i did not fail
in twelfth grade.

my mother is a miracle of
science and god
of struggle and
strength
of
lived experience
and the power to shelter.

my mother is vessel: broken and
still letting me
take
my mother is fire: childhood
fascination and older childhood
admiration, my mother
is home:
where my closest friends are
from, where nurture is nature, where
i know. i know. i know.
hush, i know.
it’ll be alright. i know.

my mother leaped into every
ocean i found myself in
without knowing how to swim
my mother
refuses to drown even when her lungs
are heavy. full. enough.
my mother finds enough and
multiplies it every time
i do not have it
my mother carried me, and
carries me,
and carries me. home.

-s.c.o

(art by safina stewart)
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