it’s hard to face
my ugly old self again
whether by the pig farm
or metropolitan crossroads
but the hardest is alone
with children
I’d cut my lungs out for her
but then I spray her
in the face with the hose
when she claws for the baby
and so in the monastery
of motherhood I find the devil
in my own heart
and God too in the form
of El Shaddai
nursing as I write
and oh how the helpless babe
grows into an angry being
I pray they’ll be better than me
I’ve done my best so far &
been ashamed of it —
what I thought I’d be like
buried beneath this reality scaffolding
of masks on masks
unholy crown
on my motherhead