Dear Mother,

P. was a little flame with a pale chest

A white shirt open

 

He sat his sisters hand-in-hand

to electrify them

 

P. set his house on fire

He was new-light, my laudanum

 

No was a needle with me

a dull gleam in the old-light

 

Yes was a light-tower

that seeped through the door

of my lairy room

 

It grew out of ground

grew risk like millions

like flickers of stars

like pins, black seeds

 

He was my shiver, blood on the outside

 

His light-handed rules,

his heavy-handed love

 

rewrote you, Mother,

and your grave

 

Yours, trying to explain,

Mary


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