High out of reach / netted lacquer cherries tremble
and shine / inviting the bees, her perfect children / not us
so waspish and barking / busy with accident — thinking
the pearls were pop-beads and now they’re all over the floor
we try on her tall shoes / tiny oceans rock in the glass heels
inside minuscule oysters spin layers of nacre / glimmering
and breakable / it’s not forgiveness if we go by in a blur
restless continents sidle to her knee / lay our heads in her lap
we bad dogs dig up bones in the orchard / set them on fire
published in Mom Egg Review
Martha McCollough 