as a man
lays dying
it’s not god he asks for
it’s mama
*For Frankie DeVita from Brooklyn
as a man
lays dying
it’s not god he asks for
it’s mama
*For Frankie DeVita from Brooklyn
i wouldn’t call it an altar
it’s less official
merely a shelf of irreplaceable things
two garnets
the twins’ birth stones
a statue sculpted
by a local artist named mckeown
of me
holding the boys
right after they were born
a silver piece from my brother
a two dollar bill from my grandfather
memaw’s watch and engagement ring
a rosary i bought when i was 10 from a thrift store because it spoke to me
and a small framed photograph
of my mother and father
taken after a late night of playing rook
with friends
him standing behind her
when they were in love
my father eyes are full of whiskey
my mother sober as a baptist judge
and you can tell by the way
she cradles his hands
around her waist
that she is tired
and keenly aware
all things are fleeting
it wasn’t until this day i noticed
they are posed
by the back door of our long ago little house
in the picture
as if they are leaving
thank you, mom
for making me
the daughter
of red injuns
white pastors
tobacco farmers
beauty queens
swaggering outlaws
and world famous circus giants
thank you
for my self worth
legs
breasts
and sass
thank you for the thousandth book
you ever read to me
and lined the walls of my room with
hard bound histories passed down through the family
golden books, encyclopedias, dictionaries
thank you for giving me my grasp of language as a gift
thank you for making kentucky my cradle
and giving me cincinnati as my own personal museum and medical library
thank you for every time your arms have caught me as i was falling
thank you for always having a piano
thank you for your love
thank you, mom
for making me
saturday
you are lovely
in your late morning robe
my ears have forgotten alarm clocks exist
invited to the table
by a red rosebush
i have tea with my closest ghosts
remembering
god lives in your mother’s kitchen
blueberry bagels are making the tangerines suspicious
i tell them julia child credited her longevity to red meat and gin
a cherry tree trial convenes beyond the window
the robin in the nest
just confessed
she was mae west
in another life