Yellow Wood

Mother taught me.
I learned about despair when
I smiled instead of weeping
as she’d sit blue as the
heavy pot belly stove,
overcome with a promise tinted
futility;
angry as God
between her affair with sweep and scrub.

Needing laughter
she’d think of a stronger arm,
but seeing me:
a holy devil protested,
decently attacking
thin floors
that spun
undefeatable yellow.

Thinking quiet in my toy,
I watched
looking cool 
for mother.