never mind a kitchen
disturbed or clean
dulled abrasions
stuck oatmeal scratching
steely cut grease spots too
the cloudy water is collecting in the dishpan again
order follows chaos
follows order
follows chaos
the table belongs to the house
belongs to the bank, i pay
rivers fly like stars that swim
recoursing through oceanic endlessness
the significance of their insignificance
mine too, because wings.
a girl without hands cannot grow into a mother
without understanding first
the extremity of her losses
everything that comes to be
will become a byproduct of this-
who is there like me, except me?
no, she didn’t give me her name
(she never understood pride or names)
i took it
so the judge would tear-up my crossed-out lines
about this poem
there are few greater feelings for me then when a poem such as this one, rich with metaphor and form, word play and relationship comes bubbling to my surface. it feels like a gift, as rare as it is real, it makes me believe in things i cannot see with my eyes and i like that feeling, A LOT. there’s lots here and of course my mother, sandra lopes santos ~ thanks for reading ! xo
santos scribes 
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