Lemonade Poems

Hope

The nail technician pushes my cuticles back, turns my hand over. Stretches the skin on my palm and says, "I see your daughters, and their daughters." That night in a dream the first girl emerges from a slit in my stomach. The scar heals into a smile. The man I love pulls the stitches out with his fingernails. We leave like searchers curling on the side of the bath. I wake as the second girl crawls up headfirst up my throat, a flower blossoming out of the hole in my face