Saturday, March 21, 2009

I remember mama

Mom said I was most like her
 Grudge holding, passive but sentimental
 rattlesnake venomed sweetheart 
 Sending out fireballs of hurt 
 innocently meaning well
 Standing at the stove simmering
 Peeking out at the world
 Disgusted at its sweaty reality
 Smiling wanly, holding back
 Cursing through gritted teeth
 Offering a shoulder to lean on
 Jumping in reluctantly,
 then treading and making strokes
 She endured, persisted
 Taking us along 
 Toward a somewhat unsatisfactory conclusion to the grand story

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