Analysis of mom

I do not remember you.
Maybe we where two skeletons
living in an empty room
with the most beautiful hair
and never brushing it and it grew two feet a day
With your fingers like twigs
we cut it every morning and every night
it lined the floor of our room, wild and soft
 black and red ropes
And maybe, I lived inside you, peaking out behind your ribs
feet curled on your pelvis
because I was small,
and you where always big.