Mercy, Mom

Mercy, Mom

Katherine Lee

Mercy, Mom, you plead.
Can I have mercy?
In the chambers of my lignite heart I spit out,
No, I want you to pay.
For the spaghetti sauce you
splattered on my mopped tile
for that time you snipped
the kitten’s whiskers
underneath the table we sat at
together as friends
and for that time you left the upstairs sink on—
your father flew from the garage
like a bat out of hell to stop the rivulets of water
sprung from its chalky ceiling.
For these, I want you to pay.

But oh, how you’ve graced me
with tears for the amputee outside Walmart
with your breathless, lusty garden hose slurp
with the worlds you create out of flotsam and string
and with the magnetism that draws you to my lap where just a second before
my favorite book perched.

Aquinas said there is nothing in the mind that is not first in the senses
which makes me think he spent time
with little children like you.
And children like me
who are still grasping at
what Atonement means
and how Love is measured
until a child sits upon them and plainly asks for it.

---

Katherine Lee
Poet

Katherine has been published in Christianity Today and Fuller Magazine. Her poetry has been recited at the Los Angeles Cathedral’s Festival of Worship and she wrote the historical pageant featured at the 2010 Lausanne Congress. You can read more of her work on her IG page @okkatherinelee

Photography by Mathias Reding