It must be difficult

It must be difficult
to be a child

Disdainful adults
Everywhere

Yet constantly
still wanting
to be held

by Mother

Ancient text 2: voice and death and rains

It was not until
there was Voice
that the rains paid any attention
and Death could finally
be laughed at

Voice was a twin,
her copy dark, seismic
He told more jokes than she
They could always hear one another

Rains learned to laugh,
inspired by the velvet growing
unexpectedly on rocks
Voice was endless with power

It was these howling twins,
born in the center of a star
that created the ability to tease
Before the rains’ laughs, everything was silent

This pair clamored to create the seas
Their laughter forced mountains to stretch
All the secrets of the old world drowned
Death felt obsolete

Ancient text 1: death

They were the first
to cover Death
with gold

They were not confused
They had slept to the South

Both made Death beautiful,
prepared it for heartbreak,
cold weather

This was their role
These were the last ever to rear

But I am god, she finally said
I can make
my own everything

Death swallowed them easily
Still covered in gold, alone

No one else knows how to build alone
All will always be
only halfway holy

Every day

The best time of the day
is in the early morning
in those few moments after waking
before any words have been spoken aloud

It is then that there is no fear

If dogma ever pays a visit,
that is when she arrives
There is more to pray for in winter
but she likes to sweat

Who to hate,
love
And why,
how long
This is all decided here
Every day

We should all be born
and die
then

Mysteries

Still, I have flirted with Death
even though I never say the words I’m supposed to

I can remember the sounds of voices best
and have woven clouds with silent string
that no one will ever be able to see

I have no interest in solving this mystery
In retracing past cowardices

There isn’t a way to write all of it down
A faith robbed and then sleuthed
somehow knowing the whole time

It’s nearly impossible to know
when the last time will be

I can’t write this story
No one ever remembers how it ends
Coquettish grief keeps doors from shutting tightly

Early Mother's Day poem

My mother knows how to fold fitted sheets

You can feel it too
That moment when it felt
like it wasn’t supposed to
The universe skipped a beat

The sheets are soft and evenly folded

I know which bone will break first
It’s completely sane to fear death
I can’t lose her
I don’t know how to be her

They all fit in the same way on the same day

Please tell me when I have to pray
I was told to look my best
when I am beheaded
I’ve always been the water

Molting

My love will only end at the end
It shines neon
Inklike, delicious sphere

I wish I had always loved you
An absolute, taciturn sun,
scrying

My rituals are imperfect
But I’m allowing you to use
my pulse

If I’d loved you then
there’d be no need for molting
this spent skin