You will often find me hanging loosely

Like structures of dust, under the mattress,

above the mattress, on the shelf, the window,

the bookrack, in the things I touch, in the things

I mirror

Mother said ‘ You should have died sooner ‘

I wonder if I should have plucked my naval

into a bleeding pool and draped the umbilical cord around my paper

corset, a Sakura hangman’s knot

I rinse my throat every morning as I enter the mirror

in my threaded bluish gown, my face cut and placed,

Like seismic continents sewn by beaded colors

I take the toothpaste and rub it onto my teeth, lest anyone

detect the stench from a failing me,

run my face under water,

a few hundred times, hoping my skin would grow ameba feet

and hide inside the uterus of damp pipelines

Hoping then that all of me would follow

and I…