like a fish
with a hook
in my guts,
the lure sunk
past my mouth,
down my throat
into the dark
behind my navel
with other things
I can’t see.
I feel pulled
by the lazy
fisherman of my
mother’s ghost. She
pulls me gentle.
She pulls me
slow. Almost as
if I am
swimming myself, floating
upward, dragged like
a dancer with
someone else’s hands
beneath my armpits.
But I never
reach the surface
of the barrier
between her and
me. I never
breathe.
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