O Mazu, Jade Woman, my mother
calls me jaded. She means believe
a world can have you & still
be beautiful. When she asks are you stone
again she means stoned, she means
your father will never be sober
so I’ll wear my longest sleeves.
Sometimes I leave the stove on
or sleep with my door unlocked.
I like to chance my life, to tease it
more alive. I rattle
my blood like a handful of red dice.
I gamble god for my softest parts –
the thin skin of my ears
the wet bowl of my belly
& everytime he wins me, licks me
clean like a hungry child –
blood through yellow
skin looks green – jaded
veins, I am always upstream
of light, of god, my lineage
an elegy of dashes –
truth is, none of us are born
impossible. Every body
predates its birth.
Every ghost is a preface
to living. Someday I’ll meet
my mother as a child, thread
my lifetime through the loom
of her bones. Make a knot
where I end
& she begins. Cut
my life from hers.