the cupboard of hoods

we lie together curled in the cold bathtub she is against my skin i am against hers i am hers

The cupboard is old. It breathes and

creaks with timber and memory as I open it. Inside, all the jumpers move. They are soft or haggard like crusting fur. I run my hands across the grey one and I

feel my mother she is the scent of milk and eucalyptus oil we lie together curled in the cold bathtub she is against my skin i am against hers i am hers i cry and she cries she breathes and i breathe warm water begins to pool to float around us it suspends us her laughter is membrane between our bodies and i coo and gurgle in imitation she is a lyric of silver bangles she is heartbeat i feel it pulse through me like a chord it tugs me forward and i