dear me, damn my mother’s lips.
lips that blew up this polka dotted
inflatable swimming pool that
i pour her ashes into in accord
with her last pill and chocolate mint.
dear me, curse my mother’s
feet that trod so much mud
into the kitchen the day sister
fell on her face & never chewed
jerky smoothly again after that.
dear me: to the abyss with
my mother’s eyes that gazed
on my father’s gut so pregnant
with powdery potato chip cheese,
and made his bald spot reflecting
the ceiling fan’s light into a nimbus.
dear me, keep mother’s
hands out of the ashes
and in the remains. the
slack, taut, bony fingers
that nourished you and
made the veins in your
hands long and strong as
taproots that steady this
happy meal box as your
mother’s ashes fall among
the play place balls crowding
this inflatable swimming pool.