Mom's old shawl constrains
me from the carelessness
of mining for gold.
Going down into filthy mines
of torturous minds.
The treasure I searched for
was there from the start.
It was mine.

Blessed deep hollow
the Earth carved out
absorbs
your vicious eyes.
I wrapped myself in a blanket,
gently knitted from the shiny hairs.
You know, I stole them that night.

Dear Mom,
wean me from
this love for
the paths that lead me astray.
As you told me,
even the water will stop
one day,
not letting the moon float.

I will be right in your garden,
the way you told me to be,
washing the stones
with layers of blackened water.
The skin will peel off,
old calluses
will wear off.

The day I arrive
with nothing left to hide,
you will smile at me
and say:
"Don't pretend I didn't tell you
the way you were going to be—
living the life I did."