The Problem With Mothers

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I am becoming my mother,
like countless women before me became theirs,
all withering skin
wry remarks
and unremembered things

We both had our days as peach-laden boughs of the same tree.
We walked with authority,
first she
then me,
both heavy with our fruits
heady with our responsibilities
and lavish with our endless judgments

We sprang up from our beds every morning
like a step springs from the earth that bears it.
We harnessed the downward force
and bounded forward
heedless of warnings

Who had time to heed warnings?
The duties were many,
the moments too few

Gravity both gave us our bounce
and kept our charges still.
What neither of us knew then
we both know now,
she dead, me following her closely:

As much as we loved gravity,
gravity couldn’t have cared less
about us

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I posted this nearly five years ago, even before the birth of Hive, on that other chain. @carolkean, who peruses old posts (who goes back four or more years?! @Carolkean, that's who!) sent it to me recently. I read the poem, not knowing I had written it. It was so good, I almost couldn't believe it was even mine.

So here it is again, because I can do that in the Blockchain Poets community. I made a very few minor punctuation changes. Thank you for reading it. I appreciate and love you all.

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The image is from my haphazard photo collection. That's my mother, looking straight at the camera

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