The Storm

The Storm There is just enough love to know what I should do I did not know the spirals the zig zag, the sharpness of the cuts of being your mother Thirty five years now of no-sleep nights the knocks on the door at midnight the 911's of motherhood I still hear the echoes of your cries burning my ears as I stand in the summer rain the amber red lights of porchlights flash like the police cars you encounter what good will my tears do now? shackles that click encircling your strong wrists a sound I thought I'd never have to save you from You came into this world innocent and hungry and when I gazed upon your face I named you for the archangel the votives still lit with hopeful prayer, You are walking in silence over a path of stones, in tragic orange, a butterfly so beautiful with clipped wings. Elizabeth Dispenza. all rights reserved 2021