She has white hot blond strands of knowledge streaming down her back. Each lace of golden fleece tells a different tale one more essentially older and knowing than the next. Her existence is only possible because of the rare mercy of Humor and her sister Coincidence. I am the child of the red haired Rage grown older into Crone, once mated with an equally icy blond, then a single Fall spent twined with the belly of the warm blooded Fawn.
I am the grandchild of the slash-mouthed white faced monster who kept the buzzing bees in the jars. I am the grandchild of the slash-mouthed white monster who ate bites of all of his children and burped up his grandchildren at Sunday dinner, and spit them out on the bows of the shiny new boats at the lake.
I am the grandchild of the housecoat wearing slippered imp that used Oreos like magic coins to make up the difference. I am the mother of the white hot blond with strands of knowledge older than the grains sand that etch her monogram on her glass mirrors. I am the mother that taught her how to smile and twist the knife blade. I am the mother that will never tense when she reaches. I am the mother that will never leave. I am the mother that will never fail. I am the mother that will never fail to teach. I am the mother of honesty. I am the mother of murder. I am the mother of revenge. I am the mother of my little girls. I am the mother of all little girls. I am the little girl.
I will eat the slash mouthed monster one bite at time with every new bit of knowledge I give every little girl. I will enjoy the rancid bite, every bubble of bitter cadaver caviar upon each Oreo as I illuminate the younglings, perpetuating their protection. Casting this spell and making them armored against the darkness, against the black bedrooms and the buzzing bees in their ears and tugging at their nightgowns. I will eat the slash-mouthed monster one bitter rotten bite at time as I teach them how to see, how to tell, how to kick, how to bite, how to run. I will swallow so they don’t have to. I will kill him. I will murder. I will teach them. I will teach them to. I am the mother.
I am the grandchild of the slash-mouthed white faced monster who kept the buzzing bees in the jars. I am the grandchild of the slash-mouthed white monster who ate bites of all of his children and burped up his grandchildren at Sunday dinner, and spit them out on the bows of the shiny new boats at the lake.
I am the grandchild of the housecoat wearing slippered imp that used Oreos like magic coins to make up the difference. I am the mother of the white hot blond with strands of knowledge older than the grains sand that etch her monogram on her glass mirrors. I am the mother that taught her how to smile and twist the knife blade. I am the mother that will never tense when she reaches. I am the mother that will never leave. I am the mother that will never fail. I am the mother that will never fail to teach. I am the mother of honesty. I am the mother of murder. I am the mother of revenge. I am the mother of my little girls. I am the mother of all little girls. I am the little girl.
I will eat the slash mouthed monster one bite at time with every new bit of knowledge I give every little girl. I will enjoy the rancid bite, every bubble of bitter cadaver caviar upon each Oreo as I illuminate the younglings, perpetuating their protection. Casting this spell and making them armored against the darkness, against the black bedrooms and the buzzing bees in their ears and tugging at their nightgowns. I will eat the slash-mouthed monster one bitter rotten bite at time as I teach them how to see, how to tell, how to kick, how to bite, how to run. I will swallow so they don’t have to. I will kill him. I will murder. I will teach them. I will teach them to. I am the mother.
1 comment:
I dig it.
Long time, no see.
Good to hear from you.
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