sister
I can’t believe how you came home
or why you cut your hair
your hair I could handle
but what I couldn’t take
was what you tried to tell momma
how you stood in the living room
the place momma made of dark mahogany wood
polished glass and picture frames
picturing you in the dress she spent
three weeks on making lace so
you would stand special at First Communion
she tried to make you stand special
Stefanie and instead you stood
in that room and told momma her religion
was stupid momma you’re not enlightened
momma you’ve been brainwashed
the priest took your womanhood momma
they bundled it up in purple and scarlet
cassocks tied it with a mile-long
strand of jet and crystal rosary beads
and threw it in the river
you bring home a lot of talk
about Mother Goddesses Stefanie
so it would seem to me
you wouldn’t question where your
Mother Goddess chose to find her inspiration
What got her across that ocean to this
house and taught you how to survive
because believe me she taught you Stefanie
I might be a brainwashed candle-burner
according to you but I know we get our
survival from our Mother and you
Stefanie blasphemed when you said that to her
Stefanie I hope her slap felt like thunder
Stefanie hope you felt like that was a testimonial
from your own On-High Mother Goddess
hope it rang through your head like the
chants of Druid priestesses the clang of churchbells
hope it clogged your nostrils
like the sound of incense swung madly on Good Friday
hope it blinded you like light off
stained glass the wide dark ocean
the brass and beaded icons momma polished
so carefully knowing one day
she would need them
to stand across from you and stare you down
Stefanie for a moment for momma
to strike you blind
This piece originally appeared in the student publication Poets of the Corn, published in 1989.