Mother and daughter spliced together
attached to the same stalk. Peeling
back cob leaves reveals kernel
after kernel of mother’s decay,
until daughter cares for an empty husk;
withering in their private drought.
At her mother’s funeral, daughter
dreams of soaking in the tub,
wrapping herself in freshly
laundered sheets with no
one to interrupt her sleep.
She clings like a climbing vine nurse
who asserted “There’s no right way
to grieve.”
First appearing January 2019