Breasts milk heavy and baby pudge
Her Flown hair masks the puckered brow-
A fresh box of spilled cheerios,
blankets on floor, children on knees
She grimaced, hid eyes, locked the door,
And ran. Left three babies, aged 1
to 3. She forgot the coffee,
remembered to turn off the fire.
Forgot the baby in the crib,
Remembered to leave cereal.
His mouth was pink calloused crochet
Four barred walls on mattressed monstrous height
He knew. Too catatonic to whimper.
Stared. My mother and his brother
Played. Cried. Ate cheerios and purged
Waste. My mother never sat on
Her excrement. My uncle did.
Thought maybe covering himself
His mother would return; soap, water,
His nurse milk heavy and warm.
What he met were eager flies ripe
To nest eggs in flesh, families
who reunite at time of flight.
My mom, too proud for family
Too lofty to allow those flies
Burrow family in her heart.
Uncle welcomed all matriarchs.
Made his torso home to eggs left
Behind. Felt his mother’s caress
as skin cracked. Saw her chestnut eyes
at every wince. Imagined he-
egg; mother a fly- Family.
Resigned after hundreds of eggs
Nested and home. He shut his eyes.
His charred crochet lips tore open,
And out poured children, scurrying
Away. Taking flight. Finding mom. A
Monstrous height. No bother, he flew.
