ACT 1.

POMEMENT

 

Pen-see, reflect my mother's humanity.

My pomes are fact-based they move

at a default slow-motion trying to grasp

the pomement.

 

I couldn’t visualize my dead mother’s face

Locked-in behind my black eyes, no minds

Eye aphantasia,

 

I wheelchaired one hand paralyzed tidied

up my clutter, it takes two hours that would

 take you ten minutes. I picked up a cup of

my mothers cremated ashes how can keep 

them I asked myself?

 

Put in some water mixed to a marrow/paste 

put it on a canvas board 12x12 smudged it

around watched it for hours congeal and painted 

what I felt but could not see.  

Each stroke revealed her hurt inside insight 

warts and all she lives in my truth appearing 

beyond my father’s hurt in her expressive 

emerald eyes. 

                               What a cunt!