Saturday, May 22, 2010

Mother's Day by Abigail George

She remains poised
With a baby’s breath
With diamonds in her eyes,

Pieced together
With worldly materials,
The edges of an unholy precipice,

Roses wrapped in a glass vase
Their skin butterfly-delicate
Their heads focused membrane-thin

Petals shrouded like pulp
Stained like the lines on paper;
Blood-red taut love knots

Only a glove
Would fit your hand
Perfectly now

Your drumming, beating,
Beautiful, pulsing heart;
I follow your thrilling progress

Your tension
Through life with pride
Her roses give off a red love light

She is free
Even in the dark
She is on my side

She is still a goddess to me
Natural, warm, giving,
Generous, gracious, all heart

It is my heart that melts,
That questions nothing,
That communicates nothing.

Things that once changed
Left and right, hung in the balance
Gives every centre a middle

Like animals stirring in the wild
Although trapped, dirty, stumbling,
They lick their young

You never strive
To communicate your undying,
Unconditional love to me

You never struggled to commit
To a private showing of it
Like seawater it rushes through me

Like when I was a child
Under the sun at the beach
Hands flushed, sticky and sweet.

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