Our Daily Breads
As if she waded through brown rivers [ ] clawed
mountains down to valleys expecting something [ ]
potable, a rivulet of mother tears or lake [ ] of children’s,
as if she abandoned wide-open cage [ ] for cage, swollen
belly for another kind of [ ] hunger, picked up the only
job that didn’t ask [ ] questions & argued with her god
every night over the meaning of [ ] night, the town overpriced
to keep the dollars [ ] on this side of a border
that doesn’t look like much [ ] of a border, more intersect
where field meets matching field, where three children [ ]
are already learning a language they pray [ ] to use someday
to speak with a mother whose [ ] face vagues from
memory [ ] the harder [ ] they try to wear it [ ]
over their own [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]
