Get Your Premium Membership

Through The Eyes of My Beloved, My Mother

Sitting this morning head in hand starting at my bedroom wall; I remember my mother sitting like this her tired eyes boring holes into the sheetrock or the streetlight outside our house I remember my mother sitting like this, I would ask her what is it Mumma? what are you thinking of? And she would reply nothing, oh nothing, and she would get up to get some more coffee or to think some more from the kitchen window Sitting like this head in hand in the mornings boring my own holes into my own sheetrock wall or the telephone polls outside my window, now I know what nothing is.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2021




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

Date: 3/14/2021 11:42:00 AM
So poignant and wonderful. Great job sharing that feeling of knowing.
Login to Reply
Delacroix Avatar
Justine Delacroix
Date: 3/17/2021 11:02:00 AM
Thank you Caren!!