Monica Rico
Cardinalis madrelis
I. Family
I don't know
if I tried talking to god
rather, I thought of my mother,
my grandmother,
and then crossed myself
to pray to them.
II. Description
I miss the smell of her,
coca-cola over ice and hair spray.
The smear of her red bikini
brought heat lightening.
III. Range
This does not change.
The distance from the church
to my mother's bedroom,
torn dandelions, and toast.
The crest of her hair
brown with white
tinges at the root.
IV. Feeding Behavior
It's impossible
for me to separate
when my mother was sad
and the priest who recommended
she re-read the Book of Ruth
and lie beside my father's feet.
V. Nesting and Breeding
She reminds me I'm just like my father
whose seat I take
after washing the dust off two wine glasses
etched with doves.
I know she's unhappy.
At night, I steal money
from my father's wallet and put it in her purse.
VI. Songs and Calls
She called to
the voice of god
as birds do—
mimicked carefully
like pressing
a pearl into her ear
she trilled to the cardinal
who responded before
I could see him;
sometimes she is decoration.