there is mama in
her loneliness, drinking
wine. and i
know her fears.
and they are mine.
i tell him "tomorrow
babe, rape me
out of love". he is
so eager. and i struggle.
and i kick.
quick, make me laugh.
make me pregnant,
abort my sin,
c-section the men
who'd fill me up.
i don't believe in
luck this time.
we don't fly or
sink or leave ground.
but we look around
with more cadence.
it's all very sensible really.
so thrillingly unfair.
she may stare into
her bible for
days, a haze of
spiced-right depression; but
oh how beautiful
mama looks when
daddy gets home.
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