To My Sisters

I quietly declare war on failed marriages,
ring my hands of their tears and madness.
I am saying no this time,
grow thick in the arms and jowl.

I find myself where mother did,
the root of a hair holding on to its purchase.

There is a woman, you know her,
saying, They borrowed me. I was a boat slip.
And her language was guilt, the caked on
stuff at the bottom of a pot of beans.

When you are or find yourself
a palace of sand dollars
with many rooms, it's okay.

There is time enough to find the birds.
Time to figure out who gave up on whom.

I quietly give you my only thing.
I'm certain you will find yours.