The power of mother

Show me mother's face
where the rivers drag debris
through forgotten cities.

The country of her body
is fought over even as her children
wear her & forget her bleeding
by the kerb; another victim,
another voice.

See her running through the weeds,
trailing smoke
& trees dragging down clouds
to melt in the heat.

She gasps for water
but the rivers are bound
about her skin marking trauma
& possession.

The manacles clatter
where she hides
like cracked bones tossed
between the laps of a soothsayer.

She sees her dreams
wither in his hands.

She hears the incantations
that his gods dance to
& she knows madness wanders bereft.

Show me mother's feet
fleeing through the black oil
where the boats sludge
through the grime, rhyming
their stifled rudders
with her congested lungs.

This, mother, are the promises
your worn out children carry
in their marrows.

Show them where the sun hides
its bread & how to wring
water from the moon.


mother-and-daughter-1031219_640.jpg
Pixabay


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