Revival

Mother in Paraguay – the 20th century
(1957 – 2021)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ‘he has given his early rain for your vindication;
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhe has poured down for you abundant rain,
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthe early and the latter rain, as before’

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ–– Joel 2:23, ESV

Mother followed God to Paraguay.

Too young there to know me then.
I was a son in the afterthought
of my mother’s womb.

My mother, the missionary.
We never spoke until
after father died.

A widower then outside the kennel:
My mother told me once she cried
because she didn’t have any money.

A missionary with no money
for toothpaste by the tube.

I was never nice to you.
A child.

I blamed you that father
had us play hide-n-seek
with the medicine cabinet key.

A toy box on a dining chair.
Tall enough, you dig that ring of keys
out the potted soil of your garden

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhanging.

We could never hide it well enough.

We could never stop you quick enough
from swallowing 30 days of drugs whole.

30 days of my mother at night,
rocking against the headboard,
the carpentry of her marital bed
like wings spread from under her

She writhes
my mother writhes
rolling eyes in the overdose.

She’s been there too many times
tied in the night of that black room,
the ceiling fall of her dreams

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤscreaming.

Mother blue in Paraguay.

A seamstress in the shadow
of her family’s cut uniform.

I watch the waterfall behind you
dry on film.

&
Mother

did you find heaven
in that Latter Rain?

Could you find it like
I’m learning to find you now?

All that time with you still alive
yet I chose to live –––– a son
without a mother on earth.

Severance

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤsever
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ& rinse.

I wrote your death in a poem.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤThis a decade ago.

Mother, you were still alive.

How could I have known
they wouldn’t let me be
at your deathbed.

I wrote you in the emergency ward,
looking for ways to leave.

i wrote youㅤㅤwild with the waves
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthe way the waters weave
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤa canvas of spilled tapestry

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤmy mother
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthe spinster of moods
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤsee how it broods
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthis angel of death

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhow it reeks

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤit’s over now
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthe morphine flows
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthe shoulders slump

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤsockets sunk
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤin the ivory light—

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthe white heat.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤsweet dreams
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthe respirator breathes
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤand i follow the veins

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthe tubes
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthe rivers of moon
ㅤㅤㅤㅤhow it looms away the hurt

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ& you’re so far away.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ(you’re so far away
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤfrom me)

So, I open up the photo albums.

I open up the plastic sleeves
of all that film & I page through you.

I look for you, my mother.

I look for you blue & young in Paraguay.



____
Blair Costello lives in Johannesburg, South Africa.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ