the martyrdom of my mother

happy mommy issues may

cry at the beach to “pool house” by the backseat lovers for the full experience

when a man tells history,

he says an impenetrable woman

is a virgin

he says the most suitable age for marriage is fourteen

before a girl learns to fight back

he says a country run by women

is no country at all

when a man tells history,

on land no mortal could reach,

the sirens sang a song so beautiful,

any man who heard it was overcome with lust

he could not help himself,

but to dive straight into the ocean, cannibalizing them both

exalted through heavens, yet they wailed

and sung only to the sea

when a newborn is washed from a mother's sacrosanct filth,

we never ask where the blood goes

we baptize our sins in salt,

and the fish feed on forgiveness

i was born to overflow,

but i have never asked my mother what she carries

she tells me it is not my burden,

but i know

the blood of the covenant may be thicker than the water of the womb,

but the laws of the universe are written in the water

i will hold my head under,

and she will hold me

one day, we will all be dust

we will be sand, grit, soil, and rocks

we will be water

energy cannot be created or destroyed,

it can only be

we are all water

every time i have gone to the beach,

i have cried in the ocean

and drowned in the shower

afterward

standing under the spray

as clinging sand returns to my mother's embrace

i squeeze my eyes shut and press fingers into my sockets

trapping salt and dirt in the oceans of my palm

bold technicolor unravels a brave new world

sunlight streams in through the windows

i am cradled in her arms

she has never known pain

breathe out, breathe in

she has never known pain