crows hold grudges for 17 years

the clock restarts each time I catch
an accidental glimpse in the mirror –
green eyes
a pronounced cupid’s bow
stands out against
alabaster skin
a patch of freckles
the same double-bracket
collar bones peek out
of her hand-me-down
cardigan
my mother’s ghost greets me
in the morning, brushing my tender
teeth, enamel eroded by decade
without dental care. my tongue
travels over rough fillings and
receding gums, wondering how
long until I need a crown, too.
when my nail beds begin to bleed,
I envy her steroid-induced talons;
at what point did I learn to flinch
from my mother’s touch?
my fascia is made of trigger points,
tension and resentment
I am a body created to recoil.
crows are known to care for
the injured members of the flock,
but even they know a fledgling with
clipped wings
will only ever know suffering.