my mother's daughter / by Britta Badour

My mind's made up of moments being called my mother's daughter
My eyes cut hard
like twelve decks ah diamond cards
when She say I can be anything in the whole world

just not Her

No matter how much
of my own woman I claim to be, we
have some oddities in common:
I give myself away
with the most
moist eyelashes
when words cannot be conquered