far

Poetry

mother, monster

Isabelle King
issue five

---

there are pieces of me floating around Florida
lost to the mud in the Everglades and the rotten red tide
to scalding sand, heat lightning, fervent thunder
everything i’ve lost was stolen: dragged under
carnivorous creatures lying in wait
torn to shreds, scattered, irreparable in this state

devastated, decomposed,
abandoned as swamp rot
i understand now, as a mother, what love is
and what it is not

a mother should not feel like a fever dream,
a figment of the imagination
she is not muddled memories
trauma tucked away
her commitment is eternal, she is shared DNA
concrete evidence, adoration divinely protected from decay
even submerged in salt water
even dried out and sun-soaked
her instinct was designed to be shelf-stable
non-perishable

proof of the love that should’ve lingered
in my head, we’re carefully crafted caricatures
in my quiet survival (i’m screaming)
i knew what i needed, so i pretended, like dreaming
unrequited, undeserving,
she found a hill to die on while i was hurting
if someone had just once been gentle with her
could she have loved me then? gently?
the way a mother is supposed to love her baby?

mother, monster
i guess the umbilical tether and crooked chemistry
weren’t enough to compel her to heal for me
love lost, rusted out in the salty, sticky air
i’m out west now, though i’m not convinced she cares
some mornings, i can’t breathe and i blame the elevation
heart hurt, hope sick
disdainfully witnessing her unreliable narration

i am the water moccasin decapitated with a shovel
after the hurricane that shouldn’t have come this far south
i am downed power lines and displaced roof shingles
i am cold, canned carrots, unwanted in her mouth
i am floating debris
i am her regret, heart-heavy
now i try to forgive her
while she tries to forget me