Self-Portrait in the Year of the Dog

^{San Antonio, TX, December 1970}

It’s nearing the end

of the year and the woman who will be

my mother is pushing

stickpins through the eyes

of sequins and into styrofoam globes

until each coated orb ornaments

the tinseled tree. Her body

is full of the curled question

mark that will soon be

my body. The woman who will be

my grandmother is biding time

at the five and dime stockpiling

supplies to fill my mother’s idle

hands. All along she’s carried

me low—

                    how I’ve known

from early on to position myself

for descent. When I enter

this world, I’ll enter as Hecuba

nearing her end: purpled

and yelping griefbeast,

my mother’s spangled

handiwork.