So hard/ to hear mother’s/ commands. “All good/and true”/ in the world is correct/
as we/ went up/down the hill. Her/ demanding,/ correcting./ “All which is correct,”/
correct beat/ laid out/ by her feet./ “Elbows outs, open, relaxed”/ as a fact
can relax/ when its sitting/ on the page. It is. You/ are. Mother, bids,/ corrects.
Love, a measure./ “Less swinging/ like gate. Less/ twirling./ Like with Jenny/
in the garage? Trust/ mother to take care/ of every aspect/ that needs/ correction.”
Come through, voices/ sing, over here, voices/ sing. So hard/ to hear. Commands,/
as we/ went up /down the hill, “Elbows out. Don’t/ swing like a bell,”/ correcting
softness. Come/through. Caught/ one too many times/ in the jewelry/ dish. Magpie/
heart on a chain/hanging around/ the neck. Mother./ To instruct. To correct/
every defect/ in my gait./ Worry wrung/night’s so, so./ So worried that she loved/
a what?/ Measuring “this/ this this this”/ to say/ after a stretch/ of block, “correct!”
Was it/ Wonder/ Woman? Me, Diana, twirling/ with Jenny/ in the garage? Wonder
Woman/whipping bullets/back/ by spinning on heels. I could be anyone./ “Correct./
No/ Hoola hips./ No swinging/ like a gate. Elbows in,/ arms out flexing,/ not two tongues/
wagging, going/ on and on.” There’s something wrong. Something wrong. Correct,/
There’s something wrong/ with my,...there’s something/ wrong./ On the first day no one/
at school/ believed I was a boy?/ Was it that? Was it/ teacher/ calling home to correct
mother?/ Mother’s crone? The crone’s crone/ voiceless. Love must/ adjust and prim/
and prime/ up/up/up. I told stories to myself/ when alone. In my head,/ correct./
A mirror?/ A void/ and look/ at what good mother willed/, correct./ Come Christmas,
Batman/ costumes, Batman/ wings./ A mother loves/ her son enough/ to correct.