I woke up this morning with my mother’s bunions
Her feet dangling from my ankles
As if they had been sawed off her cadaver
And stitched Frankensteinically to my bones
I knew I had her knees, flesh no more
Gray caps from washing too many floors
Or cursed forever to be shadowy skin
Long had my father’s chronic depression
Taken root inside my head but with it came
His love of bad jokes and clever turn of phrase
His too abrupt judgment and sloppy
Sentimentality. My brother and sister strike me
More their own selves not parts stolen
From this parent or that. Funny
How those long curlicues that set
Our course could end up
Making such different things
c. J.S.Manista, 2015
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