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…
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