When the clouds roll in I grab the keys and
put outside in a corner her
shirt. Still crackles and buzzes like a cattle tank, her
makeshift
rig inside its corrugated enclosure watched over by the two
anonymous
single mothers. I walk for an entire night, progressing,
filtering through her shirt the
rig and ancient blueprint. And one anonymous mother
and small package of crackers and small frozen hamburger
rewires the rig. Just like
that, the intricate Liliana substation. Other anonymous
mother does her one better.
I observe, the child in me does. Entranced.
And she passes it off as jackhammer maintenance and
jackhammer maintenance is
no harmless candle. A small packet of cheese crackers and
a tiny box of juice and she
vectors them in the dark, with violence, at the first
anonymous mother, to cloak
herself in ordinariness.
Without shoes nonchalantly seizes the first anonymous
mother by the hood
sits her in another corner. Scrambles over the rig putting the
cat shit back inside the
cat and other miracles mothers recount for comfort.
