My words you don't hear
Are regurgitated breaths
Of my choking mute mother,
The echoes of her sulking.
Even my silence is hers,
From her spewed prayers
To her three-legged gods
And to non-existent ghosts.
Her frustrations, her lies
About dark pans and carbon,
Broomsticks and piling leaves
Are my long speechless sighs.
When I speak with my lips
Uncurled and glued together
By stubbornness and saliva,
I hide my mother's tongue.
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