Friday, November 23, 2012


THE MOTHER(For Gwen Brooks)

You will never know

The joy of staunching my runny nose

But, you will miss it;

Eventually, you’ll miss it.

You will never know the elation or frustration

Of being my fueling station;

But, you will reminisce it,

And, The need to nurse will visit your dreams

But, you will not admit it


Your conscience will awake its stupor,

And, you’ll feel the unimaginal agony of my torture –

The tearing, the scraping,

The sucking, the cutting

Just To keep me from being.

Though only a despicable clot,

I was not without feeling, or caring,

Or the capacity for hurting

And as excruciating as the pain was

What hurt, mostly,

Was that you were

a willing participant in my killing.


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