Carrie DeBacker, Satellites (gouache on paper)

Mother may I make a clover chain may I
braid my hair and sleep on it may I count

the waves may I wade your linseed oil streams
may I breathe


you kept turning off the light saying the light
was bad, there’s something wrong with the light—

a little mineral spirit bore into your head
I’ll wipe everything clean it said I’ll wipe everything


we walked next to ruins in a park: 

you caught a toad, stuck it in my hand hold it flat
I didn’t want to touch its clammy skin

you clutched my wrist only the wild seed grows—
close your mouth to the water, close your ears daughter


Mother may I play
upside down may I scrub your frown

may I unbutton me unbutton you
may I swallow

your stew Mother may I whorl
beneath your full moon gaze—

may I cut you out of my face


Rachel Sahaidachny


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