at night as I gather my hair
my mothers watch me
unknown women who crossed waters
paper boats made from lost census records
taking planting raising moving
dark earth over and over
coaxing food from dust
feet and face unwashed
canning peaches
singing along with cicadas
my own mother is there
she who was never a mother
despite trying so many times
I gather her along with her mothers
they watch as my dark ocean is pulled together
a dark bowl of moving currents
and hidden tributaries
the stories are there but the language gone
at night I gather my hair
gently
my mothers are there
whispering I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I'm sorry