POEM: Mothering: a pantoum

BY CHRISTINE COATES

Then my mother turned to me and said,
You could be made of wood.
Something died, something turned to dust,
Mother was a rose set in diamonds.

You could be made of wood.
Her turquoise dress with rhinestones,
Mother was a rose set in diamonds.
I wondered what the future held for a girl like me.

Her turquoise dress with rhinestones,
I already missed my daughter, not yet born,
I wondered what the future held,
was she too made of wood?

I already missed my daughter, not yet born,
when my mother turned to me and said,
was she too made of wood?
my mother turned to me and said.

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