after Kimberly Blaeser’s When We Sing of Might
at 3pm, the sun wears my 20’s feet. unsure how bright to glow yet certain that the west exist to swallow it like a sea’s wide mouth.
i am almost 30. as i blow more candles, i find myself ageing like my mother and the mothers before her. the mirror often shows I dress in their stories patterned and purple as night.
Maya Angelou once said “i come as one but stand as 10,000”.
I am on my own, in a foreign land with a pocket filled with my mother’s prayers – thousands of suns unyielding to gravity, above, over me.