We Talk About Mothers (Monsters)

They ask us how we do it

It referring to exactly what you think

What I thought of as beautiful, blooming

In the moment, private and unfazed by gaze

Wilts in response to the crudeness

That seeps out of cracked soil

We talk about our mothers

While referring to monsters

I say, and she nods

Or hint at our monsters

While referring to mothers

She says, and I laugh

Did you know that it can be fun?

To find someone who also laughs

At eternal, maternal misery

Which I carry around in tiny flasks

And pour into our drinks

To get her to say a few honest lines like

We are daughters, not war zones

And our bodies were not our own

Which I then sip, swallow, and succumb to

Because when the truth strikes a match

All our scars burn… beautiful… and blooming

Imagine dry, lustful branches that become a scorching,

entangled ring of firewood that repeatedly peaks

into the night sky from friction with every touch

Afterwards, we go back to talking about

Our mothers, which we refer to as monsters