For Mom
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.
For weeks now,
I imagine how softly you will go
And yet how profoundly
You have always been.
For weeks now I've tantalized
My heart with your voice,
Your steps and your
And your overall presence
Mom, If you were to put your ear to
My chest and listen to
My heart beat,
I wonder,
Could the vibration heal you?
I imagine it
Igniting the sunrise in your eyes;
The ferocity of motherhood
Bringing you back to life.
Copyright © Steven Riley | Year Posted 2014
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