my mother is cursed. she sprouted from evil roots, gnarled and marred by the sour sting of expired love.
when her tendril emerged from wicked soil she was all bones, disjointed, already a skeleton.
leaf and leaf grew between paper cut parents, their verbal scissors poised to sever every smile.
she was five when she split her skull on the couch corner. hairline fractures blossomed with her stolen screams.
no blood, no telltale thorn, no silent sign of something. only a pain she forgot as swift as her mind shattered.
her branches were born from nothing, a lucid stalk scarred and sallow. the bark scratched like her fathers hands,
calloused and cracked and freshly rotten. every edge seemed wrong, too much like a memory.
she choked on sun, on this dewy fear of growing too cruel. her bike leapt over crumbling asphalt and her foot fell apart.
she didn’t realize for two days. the ache felt mute, dull, all too small to mean a piece of her was broken.
wearing her cast, toes sticking out the front how she hated, she still rode her bike into the wilting sun each night.
her stem ascended when foot touched frozen plane, a tangle of bloodstained vine. she never bloomed.
now she stumbles over her road blocked dreams. her palms kiss clouds. she tastes her own spoiled history.
steady as red ribbons, she laces her child with venom. poisoned daughter poisons family. she waters another cypress tree.
she is absolutely cursed. cursed to a life she has watched unfold. one shriveled, withered, ready to crumple.
she is a life sick mother. she is lonely. she screams until her throat is raw and her lungs weep and breath becomes a gift.
she still has not flowered. so far from the earth that gave her life, she feels it splintering her evergreen skin.
and unraveled from wish corpses and rusted hearts, dressed in fool’s gold, locked inside another woman’s mirror,
my mother believes she’s a lovely ghost.