Glass of Water

Kitchen light is on bleeding
into the dining room where mother sits
drinking a glass of water, she wakes up
at three am when the angels
furrow their brows
in her baby boomer dreaming
sixty years old mum, you ask us
if you look younger
because the men
on catholic matches online only
like women
younger than
themselves, I shudder
as you gulp
and wash your glass
and the wind blows
needles into my chest
I leave you a valentine, oh mother
there’s a lock, glitter, a tearful child
a 19 year old girl with smeared lipstick
staying inside to wait for the day
When the wind blows over
I leave you a picture
I drew when I was five
Ricitos Dorados, y papa oso
Mama oso, y osito
maiden of the flaxen locks
she tests each bowl of porridge
each too hot, too cold
too unnervingly real
so she skips the porridge
and finds the bed
where she can sink
and never rise