My mother washed the day's black grime (landays)

Every night, from the edge of the tub,

My mother washed the day's black grime from her hard cracked heels

Every morning, she boiled new water

Kettles lined up to ferry the heat for Daddy's bath

The days pile deep inside the front door

Futures seep in through the eyes of the grubby mesh screens

I wash in flows of magic water

What does it matter to me whose belly I laugh with?

I cannot choose the feet I dance on.

Neither did she. I watched her from wakeup to breakdown