Monday, February 14, 2011


Little feet run the stairs
squeals, laughter, hoots.
Fridge door slams.
School bus, prom, graduation
gone and still not gone.
Phone rings at hours not your hours.
A simple purr since you turned it down.
A little peace is good.
The TV blinks past arthritis, pills and Tide.
They challenge the walls
the arms, leg and flesh that dropped
their beauty to this earth.
“Look what you did.
The job sucks. I hate you.
He’s my true love.
It’s not just sex.”
Unremitting froth ruins
and feeds leaving home for good.
Your left eyebrow grows cynical
A wait after the rant, the heat
and maybe, if you’re lucky
“I love you Mom.”
Now sitting alone on the porch
watching the first quarter of the moon rise
you wonder at the odds
the magic of the stars
the hunger of your children’s hearts.


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