Thursday, 31 March 2011

Mother's Day

A sequestered love of actions;
in edifying tastebuds on Sundays
with roasts braised, and roasters praised
and crackling smacking crunching ways;

to greyscale threaded oldies passing
the past into the quiet afternoon, punching
past the wall of silence with gunshots banging
from the Wild Wild West to sauntering present;

and frozen meals on wheels steeling
my stomach on my nightly shift of working,
ever-sure my cupboards are never-bare;
this my lifetime – of care ever-present and there,

in this; from childhood to now, each breath,
sought from womb to grave she gave and gives,
through altruistic acts she lives
for others’ sake, deserving nothing but the best

of a son’s love, and in words, paper-born,
I remember and will remember forevermore.

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