mother is the best comfort at baby times
My thoughts wander
through the whys and wherefores
of your hollybranch life,
Yet wonder where it all began,
When now I see it ending.
Watch you looking somewhere else, shut down,
nibbling at your mud-foot,
Brushing the cat hairs from your lap.
I perspired in your world twenty five years
and think I could have known better
than to roll heavily on the perimeter
of ethnic pride. I deserve to die with the grace
of each question forming in my eyes
that are darker than yours, and wider.
But I couldn't share my pain with you.
There in our separate hiding rooms.
I try not to lose that tiny thread
connecting happy to sad.
So, my thoughts remain iridescent
and tender when I reach the question
I send blowing through your hair:
please believe in me.