Carrie DeBacker, Satellites (gouache on paper)
Mother may I make a clover chain may I
braid my hair and sleep on it may I count
the waves may I wade your linseed oil streams
may I breathe
~
you kept turning off the light saying the light
was bad, there’s something wrong with the light—
a little mineral spirit bore into your head
I’ll wipe everything clean it said I’ll wipe everything
~
we walked next to ruins in a park:
you caught a toad, stuck it in my hand hold it flat
I didn’t want to touch its clammy skin
you clutched my wrist only the wild seed grows—
close your mouth to the water, close your ears daughter
~
Mother may I play
upside down may I scrub your frown
may I unbutton me unbutton you
may I swallow
your stew Mother may I whorl
beneath your full moon gaze—
may I cut you out of my face