Headless Mama Returns (Xmas ’18 Redux)

Rejoice in the snowflowers in the veins, rejoice in the bathtub

saltwater clogging the windpipe, its brittle sugar-

crystals in the lungs, in the petals blooming in the water

after curettage, scarlet rash of ornaments O globular berries staining

the porcelain. We pass the darkened library on the way

to my mother’s house so the kids can light advent candles—

I’ve strung Xmas lights to the wall with a Stranger

Things alphabet, Ouija to the upside down I’ll scry

I’ll scream to contact her—girl I heaved

into the toilet bowl, girl I let go each time a man

fucked me [over]. We pass the library past dark

& the librarians form a line under the exit at closing—I imagine

habits, I imagine knives for teeth, typewriters for hearts.

The librarians jackrabbit. They devour the dogs.

My children at my mother’s table love Jesus. The plants

in my mother’s kitchen still bloom on the sill

while my mother’s tongue wilts on my blue altar &

even Frida from her Santos candle glares in disapproval—

I’ve drowned them. The leaves blanch, a sick mucus,

a bulbous wax. A loaf of soggy bread around my belly &

thighs in the milky soapwater I scrub & scrub the pinkening

of poultry I’ve become. There was a hairbrush once, a broom’s

handle. There was a channeling in a tunnel, O burst O pop O clank

O fuck my swollen bell of  brain. If no candles light

when we scratch the match, has God forsaken? Where

have the librarians prowled off to—with their curses? Once upon

a time a mother lost her goddamn mind. I scrape the blackened foil

from the cake I’ve burnt O baby I carried to the ledge.

I’ve brought only the living ones to pray [for strength]

for when their mama hollows a wall, marrows a bone &

the headless girls return to her & the bodies rise like steam

from her chest & she flings her rust, her knives & uplifts

the blanket of ribcage to the cavernous tomb of sky.