Missing Persons

God and Mother
went the same way.

          *       *       *

What's a person to us
but a contortion
of pressure ridges
palpable
long after she is gone?

          *       *       *

A thin old man in blue jeans,
back arched, grimaces
at the freezer compartment.

          *       *       *

Lying in the tub,
I'm telling them—

the missing persons—

that a discrepancy
is a pea

and I am a Princess.

More Poems by Rae Armantrout