The Mother Wound
the trouble is I remember
all of it
your head split open
the one time your eye
was black as goddess kali
the time you ran barefoot
on our unpaved street
and he said
look what happens to women like that
they run naked
I remember it all
the time I asked you
what happened
and you tore
each inch of your shirt
and howled and howled and howled
the time I found myself
in your room telling him
your husband my father
to stop
and he did
the trouble is
what came after
will always be smaller
than what happened first
someone must have a word
in a language I can read
but not speak
some answers I look for
in the golden trees around
our once home
some in every woman I meet
some in buildings wisdomed
with dust
sometimes I even turn to gods
now after now
I turn to them
and their smallness
stifles me
like mine