Oct 2018
It All Began with Mother
She sustained and nourished your life inside her
own body. She was the shell to your seed until you became
her appendage, as the dangling mobile, the one that hung over
your crib. She turns the **** and it plays a lullaby as it turns in
circles of swirling colored jungle animals that dance before
your fluttering eyes. It’s supposed to lull you to sleep by some
artificial means. It’s never mother’s arms that hold you,
never mother’s breast that feeds you, never mother’s voice that
soothes you. It’s all done by some mechanical toy. She sleeps soundly in the other room as you cry, wet and cold and
lonely. The stuffed animals have stopped dancing. The music
is silenced. They look scary in the dark. Their shadows
are larger than life on the wall. The lion’s mouth is hungrily open. The Rhino’s horn is a sword What was comforting is haunting. You wail out and wiggle until you’re redder than a cooked lobster coming out of boiling water. It all began with mother.
She sustained and nourished your life inside her
own body. She was the shell to your seed until you became
her appendage, as the dangling mobile, the one that hung over
your crib. She turns the **** and it plays a lullaby as it turns in
circles of swirling colored jungle animals that dance before
your fluttering eyes. It’s supposed to lull you to sleep by some
artificial means. It’s never mother’s arms that hold you,
never mother’s breast that feeds you, never mother’s voice that
soothes you. It’s all done by some mechanical toy. She sleeps soundly in the other room as you cry, wet and cold and
lonely. The stuffed animals have stopped dancing. The music
is silenced. They look scary in the dark. Their shadows
are larger than life on the wall. The lion’s mouth is hungrily open. The Rhino’s horn is a sword What was comforting is haunting. You wail out and wiggle until you’re redder than a cooked lobster coming out of boiling water. It all began with mother.
