The Questions I Have for My Mother

Mother, tell me Who hit you in the face With a rainbow iron skillet? And made you into the madwoman maid I call my heaven Was it the men you refused to let take your power away? Was it the youth you devoted to the three of us? Was it the women who tried to define you and you sent them to hell? Or was it any of those, whose voices you spoke of in cautionary tales? Mother, now there are winds roaring through the downtown Red and blue forever apart And I am without guidance And still I hear your soul inside of me Telling me not to fear To remain firm and truthful And not let anyone f*ck me in the ass I do as you taught me I improve upon the cycles you and him equipped me with And I find myself here tonight I have nothing but my fragile voice and silver-lined gratitude Thank you