Feast of Fragments
Mother,your fingers flew before farewell.Five flames flicked from the floor,folding like fig leavesfeatherless, faceless, fated to float. Your smile sits in the sink,caught between soap scrapingsand silver spoonssmudged by siren songs. They flung your foot into the courtyardcurled like cinnamon,coated in coffee groundsand crumbling cement. Your chest crushed inside the cupboardwhere we hid sweetsfrom father’s fasting fingers. The ceiling…
