Song Cycle, Song from a little Brown Girl
Filial Piety III.
Eternally, it is doubtful that babies rest assuredly in embracing arms
Or in the original darkness, teetering between death and stasis
While the ephemeral essence looms near the connecting dimension
She is a shadow of a mother my true mother’s sinister imposter
Polluting the spaces surrounding, deliberate emotional violence.
Apathy bloomed from her barren breast in place of milk
Alone, I suckled my tears and grasped at thin air
Surrounded by lonely individuals, I occupied the peripheral sphere
My chest cracked like a whip choked by the specter of abandonment
And I sank to the seabed weighted by stones of karma, trauma, sorrow.
Our mothers have fallen into a tireless slumber
Locked away in the deepest chamber of an impregnable fortress
And hearts hidden hauled into mysterious vitreous jail cells
Dripping with exhaustion they haunt motherhood wailing like ghosts
Our mothers are tired as the children with phantasmic matriarchs.
-keo
SIRIUS RISING LLC 