this organic machinery, its greenery 
I am wood grain, stained by creekside sunshine
compressing and sighing through my fine robin ribs
this body is leather, bone, and knife and it’s mine
 
skin cells make glitter, floating in morning windows
each one a moment, sunscreen or tear smudged pillows
they will line you up, count the leaves wilting clockwise
this organic machinery, its greenery 
 
twin moles fleck our collarbones, mothers and daughters
are pictures of this body, before and after 
mother’s pain, passed down, sand in the sponge of our bones
I am wood grain, stained by creekside sunshine
 
wearing down from the grit, sawing down by friction 
sends us reeling from the clouds, death’s ground, free falling 
it could feel like flying, gray hairs whipping, body
compressing and sighing through my fine robin ribs
 
it still smells the same, chlorine skin, Mamaw’s pool
youth is passed to a towel wrapped daughter, the earth
still clinging to her, nose to nose we press foreheads 
these bodies are leather, bone, and knife and they’re ours