My Mother’s Heart


I feel the tides of her heart.
As if she were still there.
Yet, chiseled beneath my stony heart.
These are just marooned cares.

I do not think my referral as, pitiful.
Would joust with her stoic spine.
I do not think…
She is far behind.

Far behind, what is round.
What was taught to be square.
She is as easy as a voice that heeds no more care.

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