Mother
Tina Fulker
You lie deep inside
me now
buried acorn
closed cupboard
of bats
blindly trying
to escape
their largely curved
unlipsticked day
Mother
what now
that I’m all fed
where is
the white milk
left waiting
what now
that I’m inside
out
are the jars
still full
of stomach powder
is the blood tap
still running
Mother
my undrawable
curtain
my clear dawn