Maternelle
Head down, ear pricked in curiosity,
The vizard of sleep dancing across
Plump, pink, tired cheeks.
The thump-thump-thump,
A familiar beat, pounds against
Almost-resting ears.
A sound locked in memory,
One that weathered the storm
Of a troubled infant’s sadness.
Not-quite sleeping, eyelids fluttering,
She reaches out for the warmth
Of mother’s hand.
An exchange of heat awakens
Tactile memories of that same touch
From years long gone.
No longer an infant, nor a child,
But secure in the lock-and-key embrace
Of maternal love.
In mind’s eye, those hands are unchanged;
Adorned with gold and sapphires,
Marked by a life lived well.
Blonde gave way to grey,
But the beauty of her youth only aged
Like a cask of the finest pinot blanc.
Tired eyes open once more,
Graze mother’s face carefully
And remember every detail.
Mother’s safety is remembered once more,
Tightly wrapped in the memory
To look back upon once more.
For Mama’s birthday.
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