Of course we know what it means
to break. We learned from our mothers,
whom the magpies stole from us
to weave nests from their hair.
We were too eager, too ravenous
to devour the fruits of their loss:
a sacrifice upon the altar
of our homes. Guilty of guiding
the birds with bits of pearl
and clay to our mothers’ windows,
we felt it for the first time.
That unfamiliar ache, a rusting
of parts yet undiscovered.