My mother is smiling at me
in black
posted against white.
And who knows why she's smiling,
but I haven't seen it in so long.
Sometimes she's crying
streaking crooked brooks
across a withered face
pulled taut like a rose
before bloom.
Every-time she's standing
like an Empress
with a booming chest
engraved with stone
that doesn't look heavy
from the angle she has curved herself,
a hunter cat at full attention.
She is smiling at me
because I've pleased her,
written that novel
that I haven't plotted yet,
kissed her cheek
without using a receiver,
turned myself back
into a child that she could nurture
another eighteen years.
And she'd be happy
to wear the pain again
like a woolen shawl
itching her neck.
She smiles like she has
a place, as "Mama"
not as Rojean, or
or ex-wife, or friend,
or acquaintance met
in a bar
but one of permanence
like a statue
that will live in infamy,
that will withstand
the frowns for one more smile.
Mother is without color
in my mind except her cheeks
as pink as apricots in summer.
She is worn from life,
like shingles on a roof
but when I see her in my mind
she is more grand then you or I,
sometimes standing at a podium
giving lectures
to students.
She is wise
with that constant smile
more potent then death.
She gives me hope
to return to the minutes
and face the hours.
She laughs at me,
tells me to stop daydreaming,
there will be achievements
to smile for later.
A contest entry
- Where the mind drifts by Danna Hobart.
375 points, ended February 11, 2008, 18 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
oh Alex, always daydream, daydreaming is the best thing you can do! And you shall do wonderful things when you decide it is time. I like your mother, she has spirit and class, it shows up in you as well, just not quite as refined of yet. but, it shall come to be, like fine wine.
great write, I already know she'll like it.
gander
-
Beautiful. make me miss my mum.
Much Love
Mark
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