Maternal Eidolon

1 min
I bask in mother’s kleos:
Culminations of cupidinous epiphanies and
A web of egotisms sticky in vignettes.

“I kissed all of my roses to death,” she once cooed,
And I, her homely kookla
Knew then to forsake spring.

My body—
the effigy—
later becomes her ringed debutante.
(Amongst fellow mayflies, fraternal worms, and steel debris!)

Bumbling towards both the End and Heaven
I thread trepidation into her sleeve,
Crochet satchels of grievance to her shoulders,
And braid remorse down from her dendrites,

So that mother falters like some mortal foe
And recalls her tipping of the scales—
The gaudy display—
Which negated the baptism of her varnished doll.

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