Your Mother’s Mouth

by Darla Himeles

Your mother’s mouth, luscious
oh, forms around her thumb
as she scratches her middle knuckle
with her teeth.

Ah, she mutters, I found her,
as she snatches your earring from the couch.

You, hollowed out and silver,
are holding your own on another couch,
digging into another mouthed oh,
but your mother pockets you anyway
sure in her sense of possession.