Mother’s Day, 2016

Sunday is the day I was orphaned to speak
to raise the curtains higher than the brows
of my missing children, to smell the lilacs of Mother’s Day
as if they bloom for the sake of walking away,
walking mysteries is the job of the woman
positioning her body in the context of the nurturer’s grin,
the curtsied maid jumping above foul behavior, whispering
inside of youth’s lofty dreams. Weave the nighttime
behind closed windows. She hears the sounds of coyotes
howling for life. Who is the woman? Who is the mother?
I am the question finding safety in the birth of my own mind.


4 thoughts on “Mother’s Day, 2016

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