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Kathleen Louise Sullivan Isacson

Date of Bith: 6/25/69
Location: Chicago, IL
Published in: Zuzu's Petals, Recursive Angel, The Red Rock Review, Conspire, Pyrowords, Stirring V1:E2, etc.


the first pose

large as earth
surrounding a grave

small, sinking
into her deepened, dark lap

his face is more real now
the skin more noticeable,
betraying secrets of bone,
cartilage, eye
as if to say
this is what I've borne,
what appears effortless
the greatest weight

his death
adds dimension to her
height, to her curved wing shoulders
and her crying, tear shaped hands
her lips are soft, upturned edges, knowing

the corners of her mouth raise slightly
in smiling grief, with the insistence of small waves
her cheeks, her forehead are worn smooth
with constant faith

finally she can hold him again
like the infant who never left her lap

the second pose

the mother has been replaced
the sculptor has offered his breast instead
and attempts to hold up the dead son
as if it were necessary to raise him
physically to the sky
as if keeping the body away from the earth
would preserve
the loose marionette limbs,
the drunken slumped head, the once aching limbs

the son grows heavier in decay,
strains to become part of the ground

the third pose

two weeks before his death,
flesh is nothing

his figures hover
almost without form,
undefined despite the solidity of stone
life has taken their identities,
removed details in the places
time usually fills with creases
and folds

mother supports son,
son, rising, keeps her aloft,
he is anonymous in death

they are both standing,
raising themselves slowly
to their full height