What phase of sun
First saw the Catholic mother?
— Not smooth from her oiled ridges —
With taps and digs:
Reminder of different sins and worries
The son in Chicago, the breath In his mouth
On different brown skin.
Morning dishes under soap-teared Mary.
The sun bakes and curls,
Lights your swollen ridges,
Ridges which they tell me differ from
All other, praying, morning forms.
"Aerobics" by Marina Alaeva.