When did you become an adult?
Were you slowly climbing, each breath bringing you closer to membership in this cult?
For me it presented itself the way a gun finds you peacefully sleeping and presents itself to your head,
The way the sun presents itself to that patch on your shoulder, already burnt, red.
I was surprised.
This moment, the beginning of adulthood,
When I realized, my mother, my unicorn,
Was quite simply, a horse, like me.
An animal in a hat, Stupid and pointy,

This hat, Fantasy of my childhood, was fashioned of tinsel and paper, fell from atop it’s perch with the weight of a feather.
This heavy morning, gun to my head & hot sun on my skin burnt red, was a funeral of sorts.
A morning for mourning.
But the gun & the sun felt no remorse,
They smiled and said,
“Wave goodbye Siobhan, Go Ahead and cry Siobhan.”
But who’s leaving & who am I mourning? I asked.
“Well, It’s your childhood and your mother the unicorn, of course!”
I hated them,
The gun, that unsympathetic bullhorn of bad news & the incessant unyielding heat of the sun.
But the gun never pulled its trigger,
He only threatened me with a mirror.
When I look into it I see,
Another animal, like me.
I see my mother,
Soul of power,
Body of goddess,
She is infinite.
And yet the death of her vessel, always pending.
Makes our time together indefinite.
She is my constant reminder,
Of reality vs. novelty,
The difference between a flickering star and an airplane.
A hug and an embrace.
I met her when I joined this cult,
The day her silly tinsel hat fell off and I became an adult.
-Siobhan K. Burke

A photo of my Mother.