National Poetry Writing Month
The touch of a mother, a peck on the cheeks
Light wallowing softly in a crumpled bed,
Propping the head between pillows and arms,
Nursing the face, head, clothes up the body
Of the babe, dips her lips in succulent love.
The liquid pearl of joy, brimming,
The touch of a mother, light, feathery, dense,
Encircling the night in the womb’s warm aroma.
The touch of the mother, a slow autumnal caress
Tattered, torn, burnt out eyes, fingers, lips
Tempering the spluttering spices and oil,
The sound of footsteps, shimmering waves,
Fading, resounding, watching over the night.
The touch of a mother, gulped down deep
Bubbles up in the frothy burps of memory.
The touch of a mother, imprinted in
Unopened souvenirs, forlorn lullabies.
The dust of time upon
commonplace whispers and summoning.
Slivers of raindrops and light,
A golden glow of times gone by.
Note: Dedicated to the memory of my mother and all mothers who have loved their children, unconditionally, selflessly.