Lineage by Karen Neuberg

Who is this mother who visits – no – who inhabits – nooks of my dreams, dispensing cryptic wisdom – but why? After all, I say her, as she now resides in marrow pulse that wedges my night journeys between sky & sea, rain tumbling a phalange, must be out of me, all the mystery of how she sculpted her “I am” to me. I keep undisclosed until camera catches angle in my eye, fold of my mouth in rest, the rest will fall into mixture of her shape & mine. I cede my daughter this,               fair or not.