I Take My Mother to the Universe Restaurant
I take my mother to the Universe Restaurant for a hot lunch.
We learn that yesterday was hot and tomorrow is cold.
Now it is bedtime on the backward clock, time to leave.
We don’t know the rules.
On this wandering star, I am daughter to a lost mother.
“Where is God, my husband?” It is a funny prayer, asked in song.
She can’t get him on the phone; it doesn’t work.
She feels his absence.
Nothing breaks her faith. Nothing ends her abiding bereavement.
We cling to the old weather, fire at the core of earth.
All I can do is fill her body with rhythm and contradiction.
I always spill out.
I pick my words, but meaning can’t be trapped.
A bone in the mouth to burn dissatisfaction.
Blot of blood on my forehead cannot drain the ash from her heart.
There are no promises.