Mother

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