Word to the mother


Wiping crumbs off cafe tables
Scooting glasses from their deaths
Scrubbing spit off spotty faces
End of day, treasure rest

More they learn, more the chatter
Philosophy of small talk
Wonder where your mind escaped
Once I had learned to walk

Hear your voice in mind over mother
Tea sipped lips kiss mass of curls
Broken record breaks the silence
Time revolves, their lives unfurl

Chords of chaos wrap up fondly
Softened by warm blood lines
Endearing past, forbearance endless
Nagging finite-ness of time

For Andrea

“I would love to have more time with my mother…
She is part of me.” – Crown Princess Mary of Denmark

Hidden mother Victorian portrait