Shaped

 

Her old man had ink in his eyes

A darkness of coal

Steeped in hard won pride. 

She birthed daughters of sandstone light 

And sea shadows;

One turns a wave in her palm,

The other coaxes life from deadened earth;

Once witches, now whisperers.

That summer, her daughters develop female lines

Fitting uneasily into new shapes

As they swim upstream

Powerful against the pouring current. 

As she watches, her heart stone-skips 

Concentric rings across a black mirror surface.