My Mother and Her Mother and Me
When my mother and her mother are exuberant they laugh in gulps and snorts and wild hog sloppiness that tell me the forest bleeds into them with leaves and dirt and all that is unsanitary and necessary.
When my mother and her mother are enchanting the world goes right for a very long time.
When my mother and her mother make emblems-after all we are descended from the first pope-and are not overly proud about it, but merely properly pleased, we feel closer to God, as if we had privilege before others, though deep down are sad, because we know there is no truth to that.
