Little brother, our mother <br />is fattening you up <br />like a suckling pig ready for the spit. <br />Here is a shiny plump apple <br />to lodge in your mouth. <br /> <br />She is stirring the coals <br />in her vulgar garage, <br />that glimmer and shimmer like garnets in wine; <br />she is basting your cracklings <br />with honey drawn from her hive. <br /> <br />She allows you to crawl <br />but never to fly; <br />she has plucked out your wings <br />and made you a drone <br />to her queen. <br />She has rolled you in flour <br />and made gravy of your blood. <br />She allows you to look <br />but never be seen.<br /><br />Caroline Misner<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/little-brother-5/
