Archive
10/20/11 - (2)
My Mother's Touch
I can trace my time, my hold on mortality, my birthright, All the way back to the beginning of me: you, The origin, the source, the fount Of the blood flowing through my heart, arteries, brain . . . You, the genesis of my existence's symbiotic coeval — poetry.
Mom, I can still clearly hear, feel, sight-read your spirit Bathing me in the primal serenity of creation, Speaking to me, through the tip of my pen, Guiding my lyrical verses back to their maternal epiphany, That moment of my arrival through the opening in your soul.
Could it be, now that you're so recently deceased, That this is the only means we have of communicating, Your enduring tribute to me — paper and pen, poetry — You who instilled, in me, this God-scripted gift, Knowing, this way, we'd never lose touch with each other?
10/20/11 - (2)
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