A Mother’s Plight
How did I come to be caught
In this place
With eyes full of fury
That stare, strike, and blink?
I was the youngest daughter
Of peasants who fled,
Impoverished, devoted to Mary,
The
mountains near
To seek a new life
In a welcoming land.
In this therapist’s office,
I am hammered and battered,
Unable to block the blows
My husband and son
Aim at each other.
At night, I dream
I study a mirror
That turns to a shield
Etched with my face,
Its hair a nest of terrible snakes.
A Mother Lies Awake
The face of the blue-white full moon is pocked. His face
Burns between the collar of his P-coat and woolen watch cap.
He stumbles wildly like a tanker with combustible chemicals,
Lurching along an icy highway.
The stop lights are red, doubling,
Tripling, approaching, receding.
Cars are coming too quickly
And curving past.
Casting red and blue on the dark apartment house,
Silent, a patrol car hurries.
The wind whips away the matches he strikes.
The church is dark.
I am afraid he will fall asleep with a cigarette
Dangling from his hand,
Or disturb our sleep
With voice and fist.
A Mocker
That weapon
your laughter
that peals
like a bell,
that hammers,
concussive,
shocking,
clearing a space
around your tall form,
thin as a mage’s--
your’s is the force of a wind
that sweeps all away.
It rings out its triumph,
derisive, a cackle,
delighted with self.
You, in your power,
privilege and wit,
pleased with your wealth.