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The immigrant mother-ness skipped a generation.

My mother did not inherit her wrath

and so she works overtime in me,

sweeping an SOS out on the floor,

clinking the dishes in violent rhythm,

gnashing her teeth in the privacy of her skull

over giving so much

and getting so goddamned little.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅