"oh antic God"

oh antic God return to me my mother in her thirties    leaned across the front porch    the huge pillow of her breasts    pressing against the rail summoning me in for bed.

I am almost the dead woman’s age times two.

I can barely recall her song the scent of her hands though her wild hair scratches my dreams    at night.   return to me, oh Lord of then    and now, my mother’s calling, her young voice humming my name.