poem at forty(for lucille clifton, who stays)
many-mothering daughter you have
been what you barely
had your mother’s life as short
as your poems has been
your model has been your
daughter’s (no poet)
model too we hear your voice rich
with loss calling and we
come i come to be your daughter-
friend your sister-poet little-mother
to your winging hands as many bodies
as you have i will hold in
as many cradles as i can
make with (of) my own i
cannot we cannot be the beautiful
ones your bodies fracture in longing
for but we come bringing
all the thelma all the frederica
that we have
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