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To My Mother
In March, at the
post mortem
During your
ceremony
A war waged
within you
Millions of warriors
jostling for survival
Only me survived,
I won.
A commensal life
exploded
The warrior began
feeding
With his tentacles,
Knowing no sleep
And giving you the
belly load.
I gave you the
morning sickness
I gave you
swollen legs
I sucked your food
And turned you a
glutton
Yet you didn't
mind.
After two hundred
and eighty
You screamed and
gave me out to
the world.
I was your first
gift to posterity
You gave me a
blessing to
humanity
You proved more
than a dam
A dogged diva
Leader and
motivator
Love. Mothering
Sunday, not
enough,
Won't let you
down, mater
Queen of princes.
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