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Mothera

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she had at least 36 limbs, eyes, half that of faces
a quiet brain, courtesy of pressed-powder gods and a twisted childhood
all she could do was mull
consider
Contemplate
try to stand, try to sit, try to dance, try to move, try to sing
but she would not succeed in any of those things. there was no motivation, no life—SWITCH and there would be NO memory and NO reflection and NO try
somebody new would emerge to clean up the house
somebody new would emerge to cook dinners (we babies get fresh greens mashed bananas homemade macaroni and as we grow the string of help is cut, and our results equate with no care when sick and dinner out night after night)
somebody new would come out and read terry’s black-and-red bible
someone else would prefer christine’s white-and-silver bible
and I would repeat to her so many times
how can you believe when which who are you
she wouldn’t answer
her kids would get sad, sulk, cuss, whimper
and, simply to anger her and make her blink one of her eyes and cause a new transition
they would say
There Is No God
until they all started to believe it





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