09: December 2015 #06 - mama, who won
Authored by Natalie Schlosberg
mama, who won
yellow cracked-love-arms built of art, with use, youth, or consideration someone I’ll never know worked on an artist’s lady-hands-answered them, too. delirious hands he believed in like fairy and cake, prayed for, prayed between (long-length fingernails, blocked with good riddance) an altar like mama burning candles and building her hands up ready to hold your child your “first born daughter” ready to hold god’s number one, only one, ring finger (where I am rung? will He have won, daughtie?) “But I have won I have won my body, daughter, mother, child, I swear.” She won- now god hear me! man hands to dust in her palette, she mixed them in pastels and drew a pretty picture the dust to ashes, of her first conceived love, ten little toes you tried not to dream about. Mama- mama, we ate the fucking world. Mama, your spirit sung through my girl eyes. Mama, you won.