I’ve been thinking of the things you said
the day we watched the eclipse,
about the long shadows cast by that lumpy
woman who made you call her mother.
..
Treadling through shallow pocketed days,
a lolling tongue of tape measure at her throat.
..
How she stitched up your boyhood
in that house where pollarded trees
clubbed out the sun and so many
sharp things under foot
with only an ancient Hoover
coughing its own death rattle
to protect you.
..
She made you orbit her sun.
..
Those framed Instamatic smiles
mock your memories;
dandified in her latest creations,
spontaneity buttoned up
by snappy rejoinders until
you were so zipped you began to fray.
..
Through greasy windows
your moon always looked harried.
..
No wonder we had to part.
..
Yesterday when I knocked,
her wobbling silhouette filled the frame,
still spitting out insults,
she laughed when…
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Mayanaam
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