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For mom

Being an adoptee, It was a dream to meet my biological mom, wrap my arms around her, and thank her for giving the chance at a beautiful life. Upon our meeting in 2011, she asked me in Spanish tongue if I forgive her. This poem is my response to her. My hands grow cold in a room of flowers And yours, a fusion of water, bone, and light In the tender palms of a grown daughter. These are the moments when prayer is vital, When the stillness of the heavens still cannot describe How perfect your face looks. Thirty three years can't separate a man from his words. Nor can it separate a man From his heart. Mom, if I can hold your hands, I will tell you In absolute silence, Every second of my life.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

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