⊱✿ The mirror, mother ✿⊰

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August 14 by The Running Son

http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Queen_Victoria_Vanity_Fair_17_June_1897.jpg

Queen Victoria Vanity Fair 17 June 1897

 

 

  The mirror, mother

 

Looking deep into your eyes, mere surface
waters, like a painting, a Monet or Picasso,
some soul lacquered in the grayed facade and tones
of too old age, much holding on, and dirty ocean foam.

But an old age grown cold and brittle, broken
easily. Like those dolls you defaced then
tossed away, you folded long ago when you,
then bright blue, sold out by buying in to the bigbig show.

Daddy gave in, and said ‘enough is enough’
but didn’t mean it, did he?. And enough
was never enough, was it? Gathering
stuff; grey matter in full static, grasping for love.

Your lids droop. Leaden years have stitched
them with stiff threads, and deadened
the skin via smoke and rising sick breath,
swelling and shrinking–all heavens in your eyes receding.

Look at me mother! Before you now,
you see a fraction of the man that I am
if you see me in action tenderizing
my heart until I have my own full satisfaction.

I am a man now, playing father to the mother
that labored at the adoption board, grey floor tiles
forming a hop-scotch matrix, a clean geometry
promising family, waxed stiff and set, by taxonomy.

 

 

 

 

Written for: http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/08/14/daily-prompt-reflections/

by Jim Aldrich (:

 

All Poetry by RunningSon, aka Jim Aldrich

.namaste.   -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •-   .namaste.

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RFB editor Jim Aldrich, Joshua Tree CA 2013

RunningSon aka Jim Aldrich, Joshua Tree CA 2013 | This site is dedicated with the deepest gratitude to Dr. Cláudio Naranjo, whose writings gave me life.

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