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!
