Not to water the ashes. And unburnt crosses. To throw out our hair and dry it in the broken thermometer.
Her eyes split. And sat down. Another error bred in the bone.
To build tracks on sand. To ask no one to repeat what should not have been said. We are all born
with shovels for a reason.
What makes us take another breath under.
The Riddle Mother’s last question of the night: To be she is not to be _____.