Don’t speak, Mother! Words again fallicied,
Personified, offended, without eyes...
Turn your display, winnowed, from sightless decrees,
Pleading with words pretends to be-applied.

Lie mute, Mother, so words of yours matter
In Hell’s even awareness. Mother, lie
Still, squirming, being freedom, proffers sin,
In any given position. I am.

Don’t cry, Mother, when we ride back, deposed,
There is no repose in happiness, no
Future life than the one you’ve lived, supposed,
Supplied by the balance of quid pro quo.

Don’t look to me, Mother, your pain is your own.
Your voice is moot to gravities grown.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 3/29-30/10