Somehow, We Find Our Way Back Home

God, grant me the serenity, she shrieks

as she flaunts into the room

oozing through the wax-light

and smoke.



(Cut to slack-jawed nobodies.  Cut back to center stage.)



Her breasts are enormous.  They jiggle and shake

as if to say “nothing but good ol’ fashion glands and fat, baby!”

She adores them, the way they jut out

with such posterity…they are her children,

her success, her chutzpah. 



Today is the first day,

she tells us.

You have been forgiven by

The Almighty and reevaluation

reconstruction rehabilitation and

refornication can begin.   



(Cut to slack-jawed nobodies.  Did she mean to say that?  Cut back to thunderous prayer, back to the truth of the matter:)



We have long since removed ourselves.

She keeps on, in a strange haze of

herself, speaking to an empty room because



we are already in that field

of grass and wheat

green and yellow, yellow

as your mother’s old favorite dress

that is now, probably, in a Goodwill outside of

Macon or Barlow County;

and you loved her most in that dress

and you are unable to decipher the soft cotton

from the crunchy wheat that pokes

and pokes until it gives in to the

shape of your body.