Spun Golden Woven Fibers of Fate

Mother was held in a panorama spun by coveted lovers, who were harlots through celibacy. Invasion of the Body Snatchers whilst the Queen Borg keys jangling at her side hovers and wanders abandoned cells. Caught up in super glue strong web awaiting sacrifice to whatever gods may brought forth. Brain septic by glowering imps sowing discord and muddle.

Reminiscences dance in the fog of false recollections. New realities dawn upon hazy cloudy dew kissed shores. Sand castles washed away by strong willed breakers. Molecules and atoms dripping essence along rosy silt coastlines. Scamps and scalawags populating geographical dungeons.

With this confession my Mother’s Soul residing within me is at rest. She rages no more, her anguish has been extinguished.

My mother and I share broken lives, shattered in similar places we cut ourselves on shards of pain, our fractured lives seeking to mend.

Madame Sultan with no edit button or filters to gauge this new animation wondering where to fit in. Butternut pancakes with a side order of Squash.

Now I attempt to retrieve the scattered pieces, seeking to restore the scattered jigsaw puzzle of Isis, long in disarray, bent and twisted from misuse, abuse and false accusations. Fraying the edges making impossible even imperfect fits.

Sitting across from her flesh & blood ghost, linking hands we grant each other absolution long sought from others outside our circle but only possible for us, from us. I am she and she is me into perpetuity.