A Course in Insanity

Lisa Liken

It’s no wonder my mother went that way.
What with the unexpected break

in the yolk of the sun,
leaking day after day
behind the blue-

grey fence. Then there’s that tramp of a moon
getting pregnant again. Giving up

her young,
swallowing them whole -
slinging her milky afterbirth into the dark sea.

The constant duty of the daily
rising and shining…Too much

for my mother, the shadow
under her eyes thick
as exhaust.

Who could fault her?
What with the morning
glory’s veins

worming their way over wavering
windows. Purple petals shape-shifting daily. Open or closed?

And those staggering Evening Star roses
how they explode
in a suffocating
puff

of bloom. Shaking
off the dawn
dust, the dutiful sun stands at attention,

shoes spit-shined
for responsibility. So easily dismissing
the scratching of the night’s
bone fingers that tick, tick, ticked

her awake. Daylight moved
erratic like a cricket,
slurring the very shadows
of what she thought
she understood.