Not one wide open, to be read by the world.
Though that.
That’s always somehow even
as read wrong, and turned red.
like a book without punctuation that suddenly ends in the middle of a sentence.
I take it for reuse.
reduce reuse recycle
the world round the world around we are all
round.
why?
my mother degrading little by little; shocked, only to herself. We all around know
we no
and no more telling her what she closes her mind to as if hearing loss but that’s for my dad, she’s the first to tell you this
or her mind trapped closed as if children; no truth in our knowing. shut off. switched flipped long ago and now, when she might wish to turn it on and save herself, it is rusted in place from so long
so long disuse. there is only so long one can wait for another to come around
to wake up.
at some point even God gives up. it is too late for the desire of the spirit to inhabit the body
bent in half filling the bed each night with its waste
the evidence
undeniable.
denied.
denial.
is it my virgo rising? my moon in aries? my chiron in pisces? what makes me determined, as I seemed to have been since first breath, to be
anything but like her?
like mother like daughter.
K can have that she was given her name
not I
I stand along Merton, author of the start, to go where God leads me and to be the scandal my mother feared to make waves reach shores, always stirring the waters of life
continuous, newly lighted
ripples
continuous change too
the makeup of my moments.
forever untidy and seemingly of no order but not
of no sense
forever full of it
Reveled in it.