{"id":12545,"date":"2018-03-11T16:43:10","date_gmt":"2018-03-11T16:43:10","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/our-mother-s-day-will-come\/"},"modified":"2018-03-11T16:43:10","modified_gmt":"2018-03-11T16:43:10","slug":"our-mother-s-day-will-come","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/our-mother-s-day-will-come\/","title":{"rendered":"our mother&#8217;s day will come"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\" size-full wp-image-12544\" src=\"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/03\/662393b046c60ed1adbdcba53880d219.jpg\" alt=\"image by Fran locck\" width=\"598\" height=\"679\" srcset=\"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/03\/662393b046c60ed1adbdcba53880d219.jpg 598w, http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/03\/662393b046c60ed1adbdcba53880d219-264x300.jpg 264w, http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/03\/662393b046c60ed1adbdcba53880d219-388x441.jpg 388w, http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/03\/662393b046c60ed1adbdcba53880d219-1x1.jpg 1w, http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/03\/662393b046c60ed1adbdcba53880d219-10x10.jpg 10w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 598px) 100vw, 598px\" \/><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 14pt;\"><strong>our mother\u2019s day will come<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n<p><em>by Fran Lock<\/em><\/p>\n<p>my mother\u2019s face exists in the space between <br \/>kaij\u016b and sphinx. she\u2019s wearing clothes that hold<br \/>her body in contempt. her breath, imperfect <br \/>peppermint. she has to go to work. her earrings<br \/>are obols, shorn of their funerary usage. palest<br \/>flirtation of dubious gold. unclaimed merest<br \/>flick of skin, the seldom-surfaced self. our<br \/>mother holds down several jobs, like righteous <br \/>men might trample serpents underfoot. she<br \/>works in the kitchens of holiday parks, spiting<br \/>her wrists with the ambergris of hot fat; salt<br \/>in the cut to her thumb. she works, waitressing<br \/>tables, while little kids scream with tactless <br \/>joy, engineering ice-cream headache, on <br \/>and on. our mother\u2019s scanned your hummocks<br \/>of steroidal meat for hours, her hands making <br \/>a dumb-show of s\u00e9ance. she cried like a tangled <br \/>cassette in the night when she thought we<br \/>couldn\u2019t hear. our mother worked lates with <br \/>the cold coiled inside like a sharpened spring <br \/>at the twenty-four seven garage to tight to pay<br \/>for heat. she gritted her teeth through gregarious<br \/>sleaze in the small town slur of the local bar. <br \/>and she came home and kneaded the bread<br \/>like she was thumping breath back into <br \/>a stopped heart. she held me through all my<br \/>recalcitrant havoc, the voices we heard in<br \/>our heads between god and the vomit, our<br \/>gremlins and lurgies and rages. my mother<br \/>studied. in those hotbed-of-non-event towns,<br \/>she dug in her heels, and she bit back her <br \/>anger. not a shoulder to cry on, a human<br \/>shield, her backbone a needle of lightning. <br \/>she studied, defended, and cleaned on her<br \/>knees till she bruised. my mother, our mother,<br \/>unfolding the joke from a book that the world<br \/>had kept from her. my mother, coming<br \/>sudden on the mind\u2019s reckless hieroglyphs:<br \/>i finally understand. my mother\u2019s face exists<br \/>between the strange and the wise. and we catch<br \/>her sometime, when she\u2019s only herself, dreaming<br \/>her private tumult. my mother works, tilling<br \/>the stony earth until a word strikes water <br \/>and everything wickedly greens for a moment.<br \/>this is the grace that shit is grist to. it\u2019s thanks<br \/>to her we are free.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>our mother\u2019s day will come by Fran Lock my mother\u2019s face exists in the space between kaij\u016b and sphinx. she\u2019s wearing clothes that holdher body in contempt&#8230;.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":423,"featured_media":12544,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1660],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12545","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry-2"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12545","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/423"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=12545"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12545\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/12544"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12545"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12545"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12545"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}