A Mother’s Mother

In orbit, she is motherly, touched by a bit of supremacy.

No matter how many times I am seated…

in her presence I am still.

And, I am bowed down…at her feet.

She wears a tone that covets my needs.

Adorning a preface to a story.


In the open air, a deceiver.

Maternal winds distort, stutter…

still the memory follows me.

Soon, so soon, I will be made worthy to take a seat at the table.

Traversing untamed brooks.

‘Who am I to discover a Mother’s Mother that could be.

In the vast loneliness of self preservation…had I once performed very bad things?

Where was I when first mother took my mind?

Where had I gone when the nurturer offered time?

Wounds of fire and rubbish replaced by winds for sailing, light to guide me home.

A luminous aura left behind…leaving a manner in which to dine.


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