in the garden of my hope
my father’s hope my mother’s home
there are withering carcasses of
lillies gasping for air between my toes

‘you don’t come around anymore’, say
the crocuses ‘where have you been,’ say
the vines

i bend forward until i am lying
face first on the ground
arms above my head
to practice my swimming

‘i’ve been in mourning,’ i reply
‘for whom’ they whine ‘for whom’

‘for all the girls with no mothers’