My mother made her devotions
At the alter of the ironing board
Before the image of daytime tv soaps.
Her feet planted, right arm
Hauling fabrics into plateaus,
Eyes barely missing the garbage
She called her shows. For commercials
She'd sometimes break, and I'd come
From parading my plastic animals
And hunt for cartoons when
There never were any, and she'd
Scatter me and take her stance
Perhaps dreaming of those miracles,
The loves and lusts beyond convention,
The pure, smooth desire chasing
She smothered in herself.
Some of Jared Pearce's poems have recently been or will soon be shared in Red River Review, Lampeter Review, Rosebud, Review Americana, and Quail Bell. His debut collection is due from Aubade Press in 2018.