“There she was, the mother of me, like a lit plinth, Heavenly, though I was reared to find this kind Of visitation impractical; she was an unbearable detail Of the supreme celestial map, Of which I had been taught that there was No such thing.” AweDivinityMothersAmbivalencePersonal CosmologyStill Life With Aspirin Book:Trouble in Mind: Poems Source: Trouble in Mind: Poems