Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Tender Heart

Mothers face was always the same to me
I didn’t see the creases or folds of skin
or the scars
I only saw the sadness
the loss in them
even through the laughter
The hands, hers, always moving, already on to the next task
or chore, or dish, never resting, never still

The love was there
with no understanding
no doorway to enter
How I wished to ease that sorrow
some people come through so unscarred, so unchanged

Would that I knew the thirteen year old  you
laughing, running, a sweet grin from ear to ear
Pansies held out to your father
who didn’t reach for them
holding instead a bible, fingers white with the grip
Eyes seeing the beauty, but no soft mother there 
to explain what tenderness was
Mean as the devil, his misshapen nose
reflecting the empty space inside

Dear Mother
your beauty will be remembered
as well as the tears
my mom

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