tyrants

i am made of her flesh

my mother smears her skin with oil until she glows impossibly gold, as if she is a sunset distilled, a lamp given a woman's form/
and my sister keeps vigil, bronzing the muscles of her legs with sweat and the spicy scent of clay until they are lean and strong/
we share the same eyes, Her, her and i, the color of rich honey/ and we see the same stars, the same sky, we breathe the same air into the same pairs of lungs/ the delicate flutes of our bones bearing the thumbprints of our foremothers/ who i have my dark skin, my dark hair and the same curve in our thighs