A sharply surreal comic riff on the heavy social load of the mother-daughter relationship
Blood
My mother told everyone in the village
and at the local art college that she’d die for a blood
velvet cake in the shape of a house. All day I received
and hid progressively larger eventually
life-sized blood cake houses. The art students made the
biggest and most ambitious. It didn’t fit in my camera
scope. She can always fake cry. Especially in my camera scope.
The local paper asked how amazed she was.
This is worse than the time she got several abused ponies.
She turned to me and whispered how extremely creepy and
artistic it was for the villagers to do this. The next morning
she lay down on a raft while her anxious friend oared her out to sea.
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