In defence of parental signifiers

Poem by Lina Jordan

Contaminated words like ‘father’, ‘mother’, ‘God’
take on the sins of others: not their fault, but their cross to carry.

We generously offer cups of soured breast milk and brew
of yew tree needles, assuming they’ll bear everything.

We crucify them in daily chatter and random dreams of parricide,
but they know they serve us better by dying and coming back:

to gaze into us with tenderness and lay bare our hunger.

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