her thigh a pillow / props my temple & neck / my toes tuck / into farthest crevice / my soles rub / the arch of each sunken other / Mom pulls a bobby pin wide / my body a board game she takes out on occasion / it’s as if she’s playing Operation / cautious not to shock / as she tweezers into the opening / of my thinking listening place / diligent not to dig too far in / Mom scoops from me / scoops from me / shows me the specimen of my making / it’s my honey in the light / then she pats—all done / my closest shoulder erupts against her getting up / I wheedle my pretty please / keep going the feeling / she relents / settles back in her seat / she gives me the feeling I ask for / casting again for my amber wax / a warm rush / the sound of a hug / where the wet, red center of my being sits on a lone stool / a tiny version of me in me/ this me closes her eyes/ her head tilts and listens from within / to Mom’s muffled hush hush / as she strokes a hum rushes to my inner ear / she sweeps away our crashing / she sweeps me away from me / she quells the other feeling / she sweeps in a way that sings / she sings a wordless lullaby / to fill & swell / she fills & swells / the empty panic room / made from all her manic absences