a little life

to be someone’s wife

daughter on the side and

an SUV

uncapped lip liner

thicker at the sides

gloss in the middle kissed on two soft tissues—

—like a first bleed

prayer beads held between fingers

at the foot of the temple, knees touching cement

she asked God to let her see her only daughter wed

44. tailights on. rearview mirror fog.

belly full of liquid and stone

in the bed that became a field of flowers

hair in trash, wig on

Skin, smooth as a baby

no screams or blood,

only the wetness of her mother’s cheeks,

the spit on her sister’s lips

as she kissed the casket

the bulbs in her breasts that seeped into her blood

while the sheets were all white

looking for the exit on the freeway that would lead her to another life