my father pinned his pains on me,
pinned me like a moth
to a corkboard.
lungs opening and closing,
but not breathing,
clams in my chest
wet and grey
and drowning in the air.
learning to be helpless,
the eldest daughter assumes blame,
the youngest carries the tea,
lemon sweet.
"where have the fathers gone,
broken at the break of dawn."
splitting open like a melon
live honey
like rubies grown on trees,
crisp, ripe, mined from the earth's chest,
ribs glistening like an honour guard.
i'm toasting to life,
scoop out its seeds.
please don't turn your face
away from the table
when my hands are too weak
to bring you back.
