Pinsetter

Into the throat of a child you sent your slender fingers  
to retrieve the devil’s bowling ball,
  
a piece of hard candy. The child—me!—was blue  
and in the gutter. When the ball emerged, 

as if by magic, you went inside to pour yourself a drink:  
Campari and Soda. “The damn thing  

was bigger than your head! You’re not an African Rock  
Python for God’s sake!” “Thanks, Mom,”
   
I replied, releasing another fireball into my mouth.  
What is motherhood but a kind of rack  

and hood return: the child gets another chance.  
Memory works like this—or tries to
 
with its invisible fingers, especially now that you are gone… 
Of course, I’m an African Rock Python, Mom.
 
The heart will accommodate just about anything, even 
a red-hot, cinnamon absence. Later, 
 
darkness lodged in the sky, and the moon, that diligent  
pinsetter, went about righting the pines. 

Ralph James Savarese | Jackhammer Sonata
Contents | Mudlark No. 82 (2025)