– Sharon Wyeth –

Daughter, you’ve come home weary, filled with self-doubt
You’ve sought me out to ask me how it happened:

I slept near the doorway
I was an early riser, so no one heard when I left
Each morning I rushed to the river  
to compare my sister’s catch with my own
One morning he was there and that was that

I didn’t see his face because my own was covered
I will tell you I felt the rip as you’ve imagined
Hissing bubbled from my core
When he carried me on board, I was a broken basket

So, when fruit slips through your hands, 
don’t blame yourself
Blame a morning breeze, a sunrise, a shrimp net