Glass


My mother in the kitchen
warm womb of the house.
All life’s problems solved here,
A confessional
I watch her mouth words
but no sound comes
Just the movement of her lips.
I ache to reach out and touch her face
to somehow re-connect to the body.
The body.
She carried me from one threshold to the next.
A distance between us to great to overcome
but still I try,
try to be the brave soldier boy of my childhood,
To fight a useless fight and yet still try to win.
It is no good, the barrier remains.
Her mouth moves, like a disembodied eel on a hook.
I don’t know what she is trying to say
and yet I know that those words
are the most important ones
Because they say.

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  1. Beautiful poem.
    Very descriptive.
    Love the name change.
    J.

    • Embo
    • May 2nd, 2013

    Truly beautiful.

  2. I like your free verse. It paints a picture without a brush.

    • lawsonsotherdog
    • May 28th, 2013

    nice work

    • Thanks!

        • lawsonsotherdog
        • May 28th, 2013

        no problems we are all part of the poets soup. for some its minestrone, others a Miso…..or in my case a nice hot vegetable soup will do me fine…..i like your writing….from an old dog

      • We are all in it together!

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