I was born humming

a lullaby,

the emotions

exiting my body 

roamed the earth,

rocking every tree it

came across:

instruments to the land. 

As nature harmonized

its yawns, leaves

began fluttering to the ground.

My mother was born 

playing the harp;

The tune that enchants

flowers, trees, and vines, 

to flow, like water,

back to life

is carried in her fingertips.

I always wonder 

if I’m destined to end

what she begins. 

I can feel her

skipping in the crevices of my skin,

with fresh lemonade in hand

and sunscreen to protect me from the sun

that she turned on.

We were made 

for different worlds;

her tunes are fierce and 

crass on my ears, mine 

detaches her from her fruitful spirit,

yet we will always

be strung together

at belly button.