Rhapsody

A poem for the woman that raised me and abused me, and made my life a magical kind of hell.

A picture taken at the home I grew up in with her, for many years. An abandoned industrial warehouse turned residential home/beauty shop. (photo owned by author)

The pain has metastasized and spread
Stage three heartbreak
A corpse above the ground

Swollen and yellow
Lilly-livered lymph nodes
Too late to ventilate hate
No mode to be mean anymore

Cast out the spirit of Jezebel
For his namesake
Awaken and arise all the lies of heritage
that never existed

Twist in the minds
Of all the little girls
Who were abandoned by mothers
Laugh when others call them a stray

Painting on an old bus in the North Carolina mountains, at the campground that we spent many summers together. Artist: C. Hilton, Inspired by Michelangelo’s, Creation of Adam (photo owned by author)

Lay down the law
For missionary trips and positions
Throw children at men
Then call them all whores

Adore those same children
And cause them affliction
Give them buckets and mops
To scrub all your floors

Pour out your frustration
Then push them away
And abandon all others
Who open the door

Return from Stockholm
All you spring fairies
Sit with your syndromes
Today you can mourn

Her family’s cemetery that I frequented with her as a child. Out of Picture is an apple tree that grew there. She use to joke that the decomposing bodies made the fruit extra sweet. (photo owned by author)

I miss you and hate you all of the time