You wear a white evening gown
hair curled, puffed, and pinned to the head.
You hum a tune from an old movie,
something about a forbidden love, and I watch
by your feet, the swish of your free skirts,
the anticipation in your flushed cheeks.

I watch again, my shoulders at your chest
breasts long weaned, the thin lines
around your lips that no longer sing.
“Mother,” I call out, but she doesn’t hear
“Mother!” I shriek
Come out! That which you love,
you smother!