Mother

She brings shampoo bottles home.
I don’t remember if she did
or not, but I swear she brought
the sheets home too. I probably

decided to build a fort.
Whenever Dad was home,
he lets us eat junk food,
watch Tales from the Crypt.

John & I didn’t mind the dark.
Mother was always frightened by
the idea of us alone. Hovering
saint-like over our bed.

Never awake to hear the door
open, I can only suppose she
stepped into our room, her eyes
overflowing & kissing us good-

night. Never did I imagine that she
may have had a rude guest
or changed the sheets of a couple
who just fucked or that she may

have been so close to elegance
wiping the smudges from gold.
That every so often she’d spend
an evening in the Presidential Suite.

Sebastian H. Paramo grew up in Dallas and received his MFA from Sarah Lawrence College. He is the editor at The Boiler Journal. His work has appeared or is forthcoming from Used Furniture Review, Black Heart Magazine, The Oklahoma Review and others. He’s currently couch-surfing in Brooklyn.