mama, who won

by Natalie Schlosberg

yellow cracked-love-arms
built of art, with use, youth, or consideration
someone I’ll never know
worked on an artist’s lady-hands-answered them, too.
delirious hands he believed in like fairy and cake,
prayed for,
prayed between (long-length fingernails, blocked with good riddance)
an altar like mama burning candles and building
her hands up
ready to hold your child
your “first born daughter”
ready
to hold god’s number one, only one, ring finger
(where I am rung?
will He have won, daughtie?)
“But I have won
I have won
my body,
daughter, mother, child, I swear.”
She won- now god hear me!
man hands to dust in her palette, she mixed them in pastels and drew a pretty picture
the dust to ashes, of her first conceived love, ten little toes you tried not to dream about.
Mama-
mama,
we ate the fucking world.
Mama, your spirit sung through my girl eyes.
Mama, you won.