Mother and I

did you eat? mother asks. she cradles me in large arms, feeds me red berries and mango, i drink her tears, we make tea. did you eat? no, no. my answer, always no. she fills this stomach with dirt, grows corn around my intestines, beans in my heart, wildflowers in my soul. you must eat. nature begs. i grow into myself, a field of vegetables expands in my bones.