Then with her hands
she’d crown her son’s head,
then with her arms
she’d embrace him,     
then with her fingers
she’d pluck out his eyes,
then with her teeth
she’d gnaw his liver,
then with motherly claws   
she’d shred his memories,
then with her nipples
she’d nourish him
on the milk of hatred,
then with her tongue,
she’d insist, Lord, Lord,
I’m only doing this for love,
because you’ve pledged      
that this bread is your body
and this wine, your blood.