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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