Kansas skies

Momma said I'm made for more
She swore I was her mother Mary

The day I first cried, the day she saw Christ

My father is the vast beyond

Every time I look up

It always growls and spits

I weaved my hair with hay

And ran away in momma’s gifted cow shoes

I don’t know anything

But I'm sure

I am not a mother 

“I’m just Mary”

The blue chokes me up at random nights

My father, he’s not god

He’s just a woodcutter

A mistaken saint of trot

image by Marie Hochhaus