My Mother Prays For Me

My mother prays for me

it’s a god damned imposition

My mother prays for me and I
batten the hatches against incursions

Once upon a high bed a doctor about to break my waters insisted sadistically on showing the hook – the father faints, some small section of my mind retracts like a snail against the threat. My mother prays for me and the same part of my frontal lobe recoils as if God is a doctor bent on perforation for my own good.

My mother prays for me and I
summon an unholy rage

I told a nun once that I didn’t believe in the devil, she gave me detention and the sharp edge of a ruler. I may have been wrong.

It was an ungodly hour

My mother prays for me and I
side with the devil out of spite

April 4 in the year of our Lord 2011, driving east against a sunset, two golden beams of light bounce from the side mirrors and meet at my chest just left of centre. Our lady of Fatima appeared pierced by the burning rays of the sun so I check my headache for signs of miraculous dissipation. I flex for super powers, check my left arm for the pins and needles of a heart attack. I change down the gears before the corner and avoid canonization into the back of a stationary red Barina

My mother prays for me
I am allergic to incense

My mother prays for me
I move in mysterious ways

My mother prays for me
God help us all if her prayers are answered

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About Mikaela

I am an artist and writer living in the Perth Hills
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