the sun would spill through the curtains
onto mama’s golden skin.
even though spring
was still whispers away -
the ground too cold
mouths too empty.
but maybe the sun liked
how mama poured honey
into those old jelly jars.
how the sweet nectar
would glaze her fingers,
paint her throat--
so maybe the sun liked to visit,
liked to smile at her
mortal twin
who donned golden skin
and honey in
her throat
- anon