Peach Fuzz
Screenshot
after the nth session of taxol my mother’s
hair follicles grow their own garden:
a beanstalk with three gray hairs, a bundle
of fuzzy nectarines, & two thorns from a wilted
black magic rose which
sit atop her restituted eyes.
today we do not all die young
she will live laughing
my brother sheds the weeds
of stoicism for the final time as
hazy sunlight photosynthesizes into his silent
mouth, lets out a spirited sob
runs his fingers across her
peach fuzz head, declares this is our
Motherland.
we are each one of us sowing
reaping, gray-knuckled as she blooms
inside the dimples etched in our faces
side effects of chemotherapy do not
reflect the effectiveness of treatment
after the nth session of taxol my mother’s
hair follicles grow their own garden:
a beanstalk with three gray hairs, a bundle
of fuzzy nectarines, & two thorns from a wilted
black magic rose which
sit atop her restituted eyes.
we are all afraid this is it
she will not die laughing
and so we steam press black
cottons to match our black bodies
phone the imam between my brother’s
sickly sobs, select a mosque far enough
from my father’s harvest of neglect
deforest her garden & remain silent
as the smoke gathers inside the gutters
of our burning house.
we gift all remains back to the soil
that once was hers
side effects of chemotherapy do
reflect the effectiveness of treatment
