It is my mother’s turn in the boxshe is alive she is deadshe is a stranger to me and Iam a changeling green with change Ibelong to no one not even my motheris alive this timeis a circle that eatsits own tail and I am the egg insidemy mother inside my grandmother inside mymother’s mother’s mother’s mother’s mother insidea little matryoshka prison a box insidea box inside a box insidea little thought experimentgone sideways an ideatrapped in ovumthe cedar chest the bride suffocates inthe refrigerator’s magnetic closure invented onlyafter one too many kidsgot trapped inside leavinglittle claw marks on the insidesof little coffins how I dreamedof the little bell to ringfrom inside the boxto let everyone knowI’m alive inside stillthere are so many poems I cannot writeuntil my mother diesshe haunts me even nowfrom the other side of the roomin a house with no windows or doorsand it is my turn nowto claw my way outI give birth to my motheron the hardwood floorand the crows eat her eyes clean