daughters

               as you breathe in 
                  the miasma, 
              powdering your nose 

            with an ax that slashes
               through your body, 
                you dye your egg 

                  the color of 
                               ice.
                                    will you be able

                                to tolerate this little 
                                 balloon you’ve blown?
                                she’ll be catching crows

                                on the tip of her tongue
                                 as she’s barely coming
                                   through the door. 

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