One who wears darkness as cloth

mother is fishing for light in the murky waters of her

body she plucks stars from the sky & hides them

behind her eyes, slices part of the moon &keeps it

under her threadbare wrapper. even if she does have

light,shemustn’t show it because father is

photophobic, verysensitivetolight,&she is

unworthy- lightisforhumans,sheisnot one.

mother is a owl in the night that is her life, lone &

tired.look, in father’s eyes, every time his hand

raises to weave her body into a basket full of dead

things what lies there, feral, isan expectation, an

eagernesstouncover hidden things shrouded in light,

paradoxical in nature. happiness is sour on mother’s

palate &peace is the foreign subject of a cold, distant

god,&speaking the language of love is a trick her

tongue has not mastered,yet others wonder why she

hates sugar & watermelons.see, mother is a strange

woman: her body…