This old lady is so shriveled
she hardly makes a dent
in the chair. What is such
a mother for, I wonder?
Now she is barely alive.
Soon she will be reabsorbed
into the ground.
How do I reconcile this person
with one about whom
I may, at one time,
have had incestuous thoughts?
I may have lain
in my room, listening
to her footsteps
out in the hall, imagining
she would come through the door
stripped to the waist
and I guess made love
to me until I died.
O the glory and the shame!
How can I have these thoughts
about this old lady?