Without Reservation

My mother's 5 feet 8 inches barely fits into my 5 feet 4
still   she is moving in
 
Low breasts  long legs  gnarled toes drop between
my narrow shoulders and hips  
 
Her diaphragm hooks mine—linked cages
doors unlatched   
 
Her spine hitches mine      her blood pours into my organs    
her pockets of breath surge my chest
 
but she is dead and I am
No Vacancy    yet
 
I rearrange to accommodate her arthritic knuckles   cracked hip
Our twin thumbs meet    our flat feet press
 
I grow elastic   I billow  so she can shake out her death kinks
sway among living bones    she fills in  
 
So long I thought
she did not love me with her body
 
but was it I who was supposed to
house her motherlessness?
 
Why not invite her dying mother
why not her adolescent grief and moon over the lake 
  
why not shade trees arching that death room
and why not my daughters—
 
puzzle we might solve if we angle and adjust
lung to heart to gut
 
just so   here  and here    if you move   if you breathe in
and you out   if you turn your back
 
if you curl round    if you and I relax into
vacancy