Mothers

in all their blind-driven, driven blind caresses

And plaster-stuck, never-empty chests of neverminds

Sleep, never again, each night of their mother life.

 

Bedraggled

as a May blackbird, hopping half-starved and careless

to gain a moment singing a whisper to the moon,

fall into a womb convoluted drowse

 

Washing

down and fending off the black years

of sheets and pants and vodka-soaked,

disregarding doors-in face fuck offs.

 

Goodbyes

and whys and cries from car window eyes

sweet-stale duvets and uniformed snaps,

receive weeping nightly visitations.

 

Mothers

soak and sponge sadness and surliness

to squeeze out love tears like clouds

from a never-ending autumn sky