reMothering
by Taylor Seals
Momma is a vessel of grief /
we know / there is loss / as she crashes through the hallway
and a photo of me / cloudy-cheeked / drooly-lipped /
crashes with her / splintering the floor.
there is loss in the way Momma / sings /
altoing acoustic echoes of our small house
every note crashes / collides / staggered staccatos,
and I begin to wonder what it means to Mother.
our small house / can not hold / her voice nor cradle
anguish / molding fists in the bed of our stomachs,
and I ask / how to / Momma her
name / an unanswered prayer in a dark room.
her bed / gentle alter / sacred unwashed sheets
and I do best / fill Momma with warm trebles / make room
for her name to alight / ricochet back into her throat /
come up again in soprano lilts of / something like her mother’s voice.
I do best to Mother the way she needs / dryer warm
the day’s clean sheets until Momma is ready to scab over /
and something like a mother’s voice / lullaby-lipped and choir-tongued /
rises with her.