Staring Night Series 6: Nectar Handprints


She was plentiful and sacrifice

gave everything to us

She ripped out her hair
as wailing mothers do.
Each stiff strand fell strong
into wheat stalks.

The milky tears hardened to rice.
the anguish matured into our grain.

Running her eyes over us
in one last time ritual
pinnacle of maternality.
She plucked them out of her head
pressed them in her palms
and released two dried dates.
One to fill each of our hands

before reaching within herself
pulling from her warm cavity
a glistening swollen honey pear.
pulsating where she no longer did.

our last taste of what created us
overindulged without reverence
and with too many hands at once.
the last bites' mouthfuls
a fraction of the first
but outlasting memory's deceit.

We try hard to remember her
as left, bereft children do.
A maintenance of impressions
and anxiety that her face
will become blurry
even if we close our eyes
and press them shut hard.

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