Mother would not give him marriage,
but she would give him sex & love.
She would not give him children,
but she would give him hers.
His thoughts were my thoughts,
his ways, my ways,
& I believed this was so—
only because he’d come first.
She was wrapped up in the Church—
just like a gift someone did not want
its intended to see.
My father, Patrick, was alive.
With one sentence,
Mother had resurrected the dead.
Mother was his full-length dark mink,
I, his white mink stole;
Caitlin was a leotard with ballerina slippers,
the only innocent one of us all.