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Under the Magnolia Tree

Under the Magnolia Tree

 

Daughter and Mother, sit

Mother’s thighs are dimpled, her hands gnarled

Her hips echo the force of three children

Motherhood has only halved her spirit

The other half is given to nappies, filth

And the face of God

For twenty-three years she has lived outside this body,

But she has made the sign of the cross

On this unfamiliar body

More times than she has felt blessed, or felt the soft

Kisses and coos of a toddler

Mother and Daughter, sit

Mother touches her empty wedding finger to the curtains

Do you like the colour, she does not ask, she only barely cares

Once the violence started, she folded herself inwards

A Magnolia tree without sun

Daughters eyes are clear, untainted, she nods

She nods; Like the ocean, but only in her mind

They share

In silence.