A Mother

I want to say she was there for me.
Staunch as ironed starch.
Flaking off within a hidden arch
of pressured points. Always put upon,
and always putting it back on
to yet an other.

I wish, I want, I need to feel
that sense of utter cherishing -
hidden there, so deep, behind her will.
She called herself my mother, yet,
it was as if we'd never even met
within the flesh of bone and marrow.

She fled the feel of mother love as foolish,
even as she tried to see a future.
Fear engaged and turned to rage.
Ready for the battles.
But never ready for the love
that conquers every sorrow.

How was it that she never saw me true...?
Denying gifts of healing, as if she never knew -
I lived her on in every breath I ever gave or took.
Minutes, days and decades spent.
So close now, to her shadow.
Drifting off in dreams forever shallow.

Rising over hallowed ground
without the eyes to see
the utter beauty of the sacristy.
Inviting yet more rage and pain
to keep her living on.

Not realizing that her life is done.
Gone away so long ago, and even
she can't quite remember when.
Not here, just at the threshold
of her end.

"My little baby girl" she called me.
Flush of love within a morphine high.
A moment out of time when love was nigh.
Too quickly spent. Too late to make amends.
Moving to the spirit world.
A dream, a face, an other.
When all I ever needed was a mother
that would dare to love me true -
all through and through...

? Michaelette ?

4/30/2004
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .