Headless Mama Returns (Xmas ’18 Redux)
By Jenn Givhan
Rejoice in the snowflowers in the veins, rejoice in the bathtub
saltwater clogging the windpipe, its brittle sugar-
crystals in the lungs, in the petals blooming in the water
after curettage, scarlet rash of ornaments O globular berries staining
the porcelain. We pass the darkened library on the way
to my mother’s house so the kids can light advent candles—
I’ve strung Xmas lights to the wall with a Stranger
Things alphabet, Ouija to the upside down I’ll scry
I’ll scream to contact her—girl I heaved
into the toilet bowl, girl I let go each time a man
fucked me [over]. We pass the library past dark
& the librarians form a line under the exit at closing—I imagine
habits, I imagine knives for teeth, typewriters for hearts.
The librarians jackrabbit. They devour the dogs.
My children at my mother’s table love Jesus. The plants
in my mother’s kitchen still bloom on the sill
while my mother’s tongue wilts on my blue altar &
even Frida from her Santos candle glares in disapproval—
I’ve drowned them. The leaves blanch, a sick mucus,
a bulbous wax. A loaf of soggy bread around my belly &
thighs in the milky soapwater I scrub & scrub the pinkening
of poultry I’ve become. There was a hairbrush once, a broom’s
handle. There was a channeling in a tunnel, O burst O pop O clank
O fuck my swollen bell of brain. If no candles light
when we scratch the match, has God forsaken? Where
have the librarians prowled off to—with their curses? Once upon
a time a mother lost her goddamn mind. I scrape the blackened foil
from the cake I’ve burnt O baby I carried to the ledge.
I’ve brought only the living ones to pray [for strength]
for when their mama hollows a wall, marrows a bone &
the headless girls return to her & the bodies rise like steam
from her chest & she flings her rust, her knives & uplifts
the blanket of ribcage to the cavernous tomb of sky.
