yr death, mama dear

releases the pain
of sight/the gnawed moss
of stars/the pleats
of our irish/indian blood.
at night
yr ragged broom wrestles
the mastered words
& pledges
not to deliver
my daughter
c-section
or wrap her mind
in gauze.
should I have guessed
the great world
stretched before me
you warned
I could not be that archipelago
of history after
all the years
we did not match
i feel yr cosmic lake
brush
my spark plugs
of desire
& lick the coat
clean.
wherever u are,
mama dear,
hear my voice above
the rushing
waves