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Loud Thundering Bids Her

My mother sleeps in sheets

then wakes up sweaty needing me,

the foreboding gray haze thick

until I switch on the big light

so she can see my face. This kind

of winter becomes monthly, daily

and I do not know how to be

the thing my mother needs.

It is said all mothers inherit

the sorrow of Demeter:

3,000 years of seasonal death

relived and packed into mitosis,

what exhaustion. I have no concept

of eternal suffering except for what

my mother feels in her bones,

I can’t imagine the bed without her

in it nor the desert where she built

our house alone. Oh Eternal Mother

let me let her rest let me not

call her back with thunder.

from Sugar WorkFind more by Katie Marya at the library

Copyright © 2022 Katie Marya
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books.

Published in Katie Marya Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

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