An Escaped Prostitute Prays to Her Mother (poetry)

~ M. Ashley

An Escaped Prostitute Prays to Her Mother
I lie on the grass
On the soft dark ground
Inhaling the breast smell of
My lush mother. I wonder
Mother is your body so dark and
Life-giving because my blood
Was once soaked into it?

I don’t want to write about tears but
I cried when my feet bled
Weakly
Trying to escape my bondage in the night
Scuffing over jagged pebbles hidden in
Your dark body my Mother.

I fell to my knees. My knees and
Palms bled too. Rich earth made
Richer and richer. My tears softening
The soil—a salt green growing things can use.

Tears and blood like fear sweat and breast
Milk and flowing water take the easy path.

I got free my Mother
Eventually.

And have come to lie down in the fertile
Place my body made with yours.

Mother and daughter feeding
Each other. Mother and daughter breathing
Each other—air also
Takes the easy path. Lungs larynx
Mouth nose whisper whimper scream
All are easy until they are hard.

All are small before they are great.

And I forgive you. Because
This night you are forgivable.

For witnessing without saying
I do. This night. I forgive you.

-M Ashley

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Published by M. Ashley

I am an essayist and poet. My work has been rejected by some of the finest journals in America. Fortunately, it also gets accepted from time to time and has appeared in equally fine journals such as Word Riot, Inlandia, Brew City Magazine, and SageWoman, among others.. In 2002, I won the Academy of American Poets Prize for Vanderbilt University.
 For no good reason, I possess an unnecessarily dark humor which is why being third generation California Inland Empirian delights me so. My gods are weird. I once won $350 for writing a smartassed essay on “why the wise use of water is important in my daily life”. I am undoubtedly the Greek god Hermes’ special snowflake. I’m pretty sure I got into college via a series of fortuitous clerical errors.
 When I had to grow up and get a real job, I decided against it and stayed a writer. I have worked many odd—and I mean odd—jobs to support my habit: PR writer for country music hopefuls, resume massager, WalMart fitting room attendant and switchboard operator, and telephone psychic, just to name a few.
 I am also albino. That's why my psychic gifts are so strong. I traded in my pigment for magical foresight, because that's how it works. It gets all technical. Trust me. That's totally how it works.

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