Susan Mason Scott

Atoning

1

Mother is a place, hidden in breast an aumbry, in the crux a son.

2

You see but look away from my paling flesh,

don’t even graze. I see me too—

unwanted visitor, sinkhole, dark star, vapor.

I believe sometimes believe I must, will you

believe me? Lament for my child, the raw scent,

decay and Lysol, doesn’t rub off.

3

Touch me.

4

My thoughts reverb reverb echoes echoes tsunami

in my mind I mind. Please stop stop it hurts inside.

Inside, voices anvil anvil like a hammer hammering

iron wrought—

the scratch won’t heal.

Every day, metallic and sour I smell fresh blood.

Did I hear the screen door creak? Did I?

5

The prized young warbler

will return Spring’s yellow light

but rare the sighting.

6

I left the door ajar, please come in. Come in.