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Someday, In Heaven

Poem of the Week:




Mothers, wear it proudly, that splotch of spit-up

on your collar, shaped like nothing in particular. Pretend

it’s the most finely crafted brooch, concocted by a wild

artist from New Orleans who works in a dank swamp

beside her dogs and dark lover. All snaky hair

and languid eyes, she is outrageously beautiful, chock

full of voodoo. Did she call to you, voice like a river, then

point with her tick-tock hands till you had to have every

otherworldly piece of hers, no matter what the cost? She’s

terribly dangerous and every day you thank her.



Copyright 2005 Heather Lynne Davis. All rights reserved.