I think my mother loved me.
She requested me to rub her feet.
She even let me watch Bambi
as my kid hands rubbed and rubbed.
I would see her golden
brown hair that lit my earth-eyes and smile,
while her hand gripped the remote,
ready to change the channel.
My hands cupped her feet like a prayer.
I saw the light dissipate, and if I did pray then,
the answers were hidden until now.
Did she think I was dumb?
Would she have ever guessed that
I would sit in poetry workshops,
play punk songs on stage,
or complete community college?
I wonder when she pets her precious dogs
if she thinks about my sister’s suicide,
my brother’s escape from her Heaven,
or her covered Thumper tattoo
that had my initials underneath.
©2021 Clay Hunt All rights reserved.
Clay Hunt is the author of the chapbook, Born Shane, from Two Key Customs. He has works published or forthcoming in Black Flowers, The Raw Art Review, Beyond Words Literary Magazine, Loud Coffee Press, and others. He currently lives in the Bay Area where he studies at UC Berkeley.