the half-light of the kitchen,
spent most of the day in her room,
to the chair in the corner
to the right, cabinet to the left
her mother sits,
on the armrest
her mother’s shoulders with her arms
a hand to her hair,
her fingers and pushes them
short brown-gray strands,
her hand to the scalp, pushes up again.
daughter’s hair is long and blond,
shorter in front where she cut it.
stares straight ahead.
older woman’s body softens,
The Daughter and the Blown Down Tree
On my way
I pass the tree.
mouth filled with silt.
She wants to be raised