Product of my Maker

I am the product of my maker 

my mothers rain and swollen stomach 

her supposed worth; the give and give and give to her take 

the pieces of her shattered shadow hidden under the rug 

waiting to be found and swept away 

I am my fathers ignored dependence 

The splitters given and the fires created 

The nail in my bookshelf, 

The red-faced runner 

The understaled challah bread from the christan baker 

I don’t want to be dragging this dried ink forever 

I want to strip and feel winter hold me 

Like a crying baby 

Gasp and emerge 

No longer 17 

Please god 

Hold me under the melted snow 

Where my bare feel can feel rock and solidity 

Where I can wash away my maker from my numbed skin