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 © Justine Delacroix | Year Posted 2021
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