(Poem) 'My Mother' by Lauren Temple

My mother:

My mother is a photocopy of her childhood

She is the warm water before it boils

The trickling

Water like words

Flowing with relief

Soft skin scolds faster

I suppose that's why mine always burns

I favor the hot over the luke warm

My skin scared

Red flames from breath my feet

I float on fire

Dunk my head underneath

And among the flames I question why

Why is she a photocopy

Of the way she had to be

When all that’s left for me

is the opposite of my childhood

Because she was never young really

When she knows exactly how much cold

and exactly how much heat

makes the perfect recipe

Never scolds herself for the thrill of the flames like me

They turn my bones to charcoal

I burn on my own

Unlike her I can’t just be

And my mother is a photocopy of her childhood

So how did she create me

She is the water on my tongue before it dries

She can’t quench my thirst this time

Because I the fenix who burns in their own flames

But dose not rise

I the fenix that sinks benethe