My mother was crazy,
and opaque in her darkened world.
She made me sandwiches
but the bread was too thick.
I loved them anyway because
in them her dull light shone.
My mother was fucked
by abuse hidden, brutal and direct.
So she searched for love in various men
and my father knew of both.
She searched for love and wanted peace
but none could be found alive.
And I have forgiven her now
for being this mother distant and dead.
For while she was crazy for sure,
her love came in the cutting of the bread.