Reading III: A Reading to Help the Daughters of Bureaucrats Fall Asleep
Prayer for the Lovers of Carbon
At night I saw my mother galloping toward the churchyard, she collected the hair of her deceased brother and cut, with a limestone switchblade, the threads of ash; with that material, she makes satchels that my father shows me in the waning of the sea, there–in silence–they keep three gold coins for my journey to the center of the air; but I was given no manual to vanquish the wind, nor facts to kiss demons.- the demon’s name is tedium, and he fools with his subtle presence.
The men rest the visions of topaz. The fire dances like the life within all minerals. The hands beseech in vapor of a dream of a broken mouth’s kiss for the noise of kindling.
Here, people I do not know comb my hair. They part and divvy up the strands of my head as waters part for the righteous. In each flowing of water a hovel is designed for braids and ghosts.
For every brocade of threads, the people I do not know, emit from their mouths a complaint as atrocious as silence; a whisper of prayers longs for god to keep me company, but I have had my tea with gods and the spears of their mouths have no effect on me.
my mother arranges her fears in my memories . she shines every button of the vest she has sewn from otter scales . at night, I saw her gallop toward my bed, she gathered the fruits of her sadness.