blood on a page looks more like a Rorschach test,
than it does anything like somethin’ that’s gonna change my opinion of you.
years ‘n years ‘n years ago,
my great aunt died.
held the service in a splotch-carpeted triple-wide,
played with her children, maybe grand-children
–that side of the family’s relation to me was always confusin’
–had a second cousin (maybe uncle) a good seven years younger than me.
carved into her stone “told you I was sick”
“she was a good woman”
said over ‘n over ‘n over,
look down at her sister,
already dirt-stuck,
I never met her,
but my mom always said she’d like me–
tear-misted starin’ at her dead mother.
mom hated it when I picked up smokin’
still smoke only at night so she won’t see.
took her mom, now her son’s at it,
ain’t one, ain’t one enough?
grandpa wanted me just five days later,
then he’d have reason to celebrate his dead wife’s birth.
lookin’ for life in life
“she was a good woman”
bleed on the page all you want,
ain’t no difference to me.
You’re a good woman,
pagan,
christian,
lust-filled,
dirt-stuck,
ain’t no difference.
