What’s the Body of Your Mother?
  By AM Da Silva

They tell me I had a mother
like other people do.

One that tells stories
makes cookies gives

kisses to you. I pretend
to harbor no recollection.

She was like poison
with a sweet high note.

So sweet the butterflies hidden
deep along the Cayaru river might
leave their home flying North to find her.

You could hear them so
softly getting that much

closer before closing your
eyes. I’d dream of them. Blue

luminescent fur grazes my
cheek. Soothes me as I sleep.

The cold and long of it
freezes their wings long
before they can arrive.

I never told them
it didn’t matter---

Caustic velvet like Draino
poured in a crystal chalice
placed high upon the shelf.

Dazzled by the colors
that seem to catch sunlight.

You are compelled to reach.