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Madonna

Beatriz Kaye

As seen through the cracks between my mother’s fingers:

Black cape draped
on proud shoulders
Its hem forming a ring of untouchable pavement around her virginal feet

Holy spirit hiding in its black shadowy folds
Madonna in black satin and a top hat

To her left, a brunette:

          stringy black hair

                plastic as prank snakes sold at Green Hills

             slithers along olive-skinned cleavage

             collides softly with white lace
             arms painted slick with flowers

                spaces where I first glimpsed

                blood and flesh of a Woman

To her right, a blonde:

               straw-colored fantasies of Kansas

               Dorothy of white skin and innocence

                    as elusive to me as witches from any direction

               white-yellow thighs taste of condensed milk on shaved ice

               creamy sweetness cut only by white ruffles

Her hands once poised in a gesture of blessing and awe,

Madonna breaks her statuesque form
to part the lips of both the blonde and the brunette

Pink tongues collide softly

    as white headlights crashing onto ashy bumpers

Shaved limbs clutter pavement once untouched

    Holy Spirit bottlenecked between cars and jeepneys

My mom now uses both hands to cover my eyes

She presses my eyeballs back into their sockets

and when I finally open them,
vision of Madonna persist

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