I saw the ghost of my mothers
in the reflection and
they opened their mouths
and spit out my eyes
because I wasn’t supposed to see
the woman I should be.
And my ears are on the nightstands.
They keep me awake at night.
Do you hear them wail?
The versions of you that you buried
in the backyard where your children
might have played.
My body has overtaken my feet
somewhere along the way
so I left them behind me.
Their footprints are leaving
light heel-heavy marks
in the place I should be.
