Mother’s History


This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Mother’s history, no mater how hysterical…entrenches me.

I despair in the here-say.

The delight of what could be.

How long the sagging eyelid of clouds over a no name mountain?

How long the gentle placement of boulder over stone…

Gritty granite towel drying ancient flora…and, elderly fauna.

What has brought you and I here?

Why do you insist on repair?

Mother’s history makes a mockery of my vanity…

of the human in me.

And, yet her charm continues to conceive.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.