My mother criticizes from the back
of her kneecaps at floor tiles and kitchen cabinets
She thinks I hold on to every word she shoots out of her mouth
with her twang as she
hacks up and spits out the swears from the back of her throat
she hoists up a new half thought out
barb-wired insult
I know she has always been a time bomb
of rubber bands and thumbtacks
that have lost their resilience and sharpness
I used to think she was invincible
now I think she's invisible
under the years of weathered mountains
that have planted themselves on her back
and forced avalanches down her spine
the wrinkles on her face scream stories
at everyone
whom she encounters
I always thought she'd look like an entirely
different human being if she'd just
curl up the ends of her lips