particle mother

she is brushing the protons
from my hair & calling me
"sun light." i found my particle 
in a stack of hay. the fair came
to town with pigs the size
of our hunger. all of us
climbed inside one & let ourselves
feel as pink as we wanted to be.
a deflating moon. breathing air 
into a tire with a hole in it.
mother holding a teaspoon
of sugar & asking if we remembered
the ray gun. left in the car
with the rest of our texture.
i don't want to be made of pieces.
she took her rake across 
the back of a dead planet 
& called what came "son." 
detailed plans for a fourth child. 
i am the fourth child. 
bowls of her particles.
glossy like marbles. playing 
the thimble. a dice at the back
of my throat. she was there 
with all the memorabilia:
bobble heads & billboards.
asking us to go panning for gold
in our own bodies. there i was
as a fracture. there is was
as the pearl earring 
another grandmother wore 
to her grave. i want to not believe
in the law of conservation of matter.
give me more than we could ever hold.
my particle mother holding sand
& trying her best to keep it
from slipping out of her palms.
she weeps & says, "this was
supposed to be you." i am also
not quit & never will be "me."
instead, i am the fluctuating sum.
what had been pressed.
the past returning as a new 
masquerade of pen caps 
& ground bones. she is trying
to piece a child together
in her tool shed chest. 
he always comes out a girl.