
poem at forty(for lucille clifton, who stays)many-mothering daughter you have been what you barely had your mother’s life as short as your poems has been your model has been your daughter’s (no poet) model too we hear your voice rich with loss calling and we come i come to be your daughter- friend your sister-poet little-mother to your winging hands as many bodies as you have i will hold in as many cradles as i can make with (of) my own i cannot we cannot be the beautiful ones your bodies fracture in longing for but we come bringing all the thelma all the frederica that we have
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