NaPoWriMo 28
Poem for My Mother
After they scooped you out
and took your eggs, I sat
next to your hospital bed
not knowing what to say.
At 16, what did I care
of caring, drifting amid your
aches and needs? How do I
hold your branch of a hand?
Even with the body’s bowing
you kept us going, made every meal,
washed every stitch of clothing
as you healed in silence.
Years later, as I walk
the morning halls of my house,
watch my babies sleep
while my eggs continue
to fall and break,
I think about your unrecorded,
unrequited moments
of bending, not breaking,
watching the day being again
with little more than this poem,
and the long steady syllables
that flow down and out of my hand
like blood.
After they scooped you out
and took your eggs, I sat
next to your hospital bed
not knowing what to say.
At 16, what did I care
of caring, drifting amid your
aches and needs? How do I
hold your branch of a hand?
Even with the body’s bowing
you kept us going, made every meal,
washed every stitch of clothing
as you healed in silence.
Years later, as I walk
the morning halls of my house,
watch my babies sleep
while my eggs continue
to fall and break,
I think about your unrecorded,
unrequited moments
of bending, not breaking,
watching the day being again
with little more than this poem,
and the long steady syllables
that flow down and out of my hand
like blood.
Comments
i have personally gone through the same scenario and understand in some way my own children's 'trying' to empathize but not really being able to.
your last line speaks volumes: 'watching the day begin again with little more than this poem,k and the long steady syllables that flow down and out of my hand like blood.' wow--that's powerful!