Spiritual Mom
by Paul Hostovsky
Mom got spiritual in her late fifties, and we really had no patience for all the forgiveness. It was disconcerting the way she’d kneel down on the floor in the middle of the conversation and hug the dog, whispering affirmations into its long ear, stroking and folding it inside out like a pocket. When she emptied her bank account and gave all the money to whoever asked, wandering around downtown, reaching into her purse to offer whatever her fingers touched first, it was the last straw. We did an intervention, as they call it in the field of addiction. We sat her down and confronted her on her spiritual habit. The room grew quiet as Mom wept softly, her eyes searching the floor for what to say. The silence was terrible—even the dog cocked its head in that doglike listening way for some kind of affirmation that Mom had heard us, and understood, and would cease her spiritual ways, or at least be in the world a little more and no longer walking around like she didn’t have a colon, with one foot in Heaven and an ear to the hot little mouth of God. "Spiritual Mom" by Paul Hostovsky from The Bad Guys. © Future Cycle Press, 2015. |
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