hom.

 

 

 

after years of sorting out rock from root on our land; when relationship, not marriage

holds the barn door closed,your mother said, your leaving this time is permanent.

What?

Like taking the covers off your feet in a bad dream is permanent?

Or asking for brown light when the fall leaves block the downspout

is permanent?

Or your dirty slips kept in my drawers of folded shirts, is permanent?

I would have never hurt you had she not proclaimed my

almagest as a selfish man.

Or how the beavers proved

whether half in or half out the water,

they still overun the banks,

and now our rugs are wet

and the TV sits on milk crates.

 

when night comes, please return to me

as your fostering mother, sleeping, guards your ovum

and clay; (?)

her lonesome ambience

beyond this prairied paradise.

Reviews

[sienikeha]

this is great. honest. ruthless.

[Emily B]

snuck in for a minute to see what new treasures, came to your page first