Three Little Songs For Mama




I stitch with the once-ago miracles, this.

Your tiny gracious love I now glove,

Eluding upon my speaking silence, this,

Your rough little hands touching mine.

Some dew drawing a traveling map, this

Trek towards the heretic beauty of imperfection

Stinging closely upon millions of grass, this

Tickle and this lick that blueprints my ache.

2.  HAIR

Who makes the earth smell like rain?

I make it

I make

Thresholds and gaunt shadows glow and sting like sulphur,

Who, in turn, preludes the cycle from which I become?

Me and the washing of my head continuous its bath.

The sun outside took its afternoon nap

The sky is like my grandfather’s hair and I

Make the earth smell like rain.  I, who,

Prefers daydreams over shampoo.


From where the ocean changed its color, where

Her babies solidified her anger and turned it, magically,

Into ice

Of which the urchins and the sea goats

Kneaded sexually and turned the shore into

Its jovial mistress, homing and scattering among starfishes

Beautiful Jezebel, a Cancerian matriarch,

Enveloping her schizophrenic babies, journeying to her baffled shores.


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