My sisters loom around her like hungry birds. I cannot even see my mother, she is lost in the crowd of their bodies, closing in on her to feed on her pity. Mother mother. I am out in the distance, I cannot compete will slow suffocating sadness. I cannot bury your body with my own. I cannot appeal to your pity with eyes that see, that see the fog of your kindness swallow up better things. I am a lonely daughter, a stem like the gold of the wind through the wheat. Brittle as fire. I scare your love from me with thunder that I cannot muster for any other.