At the end of April I still owed 16 poems. I said I would finish and I will, hopefully before the summer's end. If not, by the end of 2013. So here is one toward that quota. The first stanza was knocking around in my head, so I figured I get out of bed and finish it. Not sure how I'll feel about it in the morning, but not editing beyond the initial blog post (at least publicly) is part of the challenge, so there you go.
17. The Truth Behind a Mother's Love
A mother's love is fraught
with worry
with pain
with hours
making sure they're still breathing
losing sleep watching covers
rise and fall
and tugging them down
when little fists clench them too far up
twist them too tight
having a heart attack every time
when just for a moment
the breathing stops
There are loves that are blind
but not a mother's
she sees every weakness
every vulnerability
every imperfection
and she does not rationalize them
but treasures them
protects them from a world of prying eyes
and careless tounges
the best she can
because they make her heart ache and open
and love her child even more
amplifying the hope
joy
serenity
she finds within their eyes
their smiles
their tries
There are loves that falter
or wain
or become nothing more than whispers
and though she has felt these
fallen victim to their appeal
she knows there is nothing more permanant
more anchored
than the invisible line that ties her heart in place
to the rise and fall
of the life she helped create
She knows it is natural
feral
a foregone conclusion
yet so surprising
so enlightening
there is no word
and it does not bother her in the slightest
that the ones she loves
are incapable of loving her the same
17. The Truth Behind a Mother's Love
A mother's love is fraught
with worry
with pain
with hours
making sure they're still breathing
losing sleep watching covers
rise and fall
and tugging them down
when little fists clench them too far up
twist them too tight
having a heart attack every time
when just for a moment
the breathing stops
There are loves that are blind
but not a mother's
she sees every weakness
every vulnerability
every imperfection
and she does not rationalize them
but treasures them
protects them from a world of prying eyes
and careless tounges
the best she can
because they make her heart ache and open
and love her child even more
amplifying the hope
joy
serenity
she finds within their eyes
their smiles
their tries
There are loves that falter
or wain
or become nothing more than whispers
and though she has felt these
fallen victim to their appeal
she knows there is nothing more permanant
more anchored
than the invisible line that ties her heart in place
to the rise and fall
of the life she helped create
She knows it is natural
feral
a foregone conclusion
yet so surprising
so enlightening
there is no word
and it does not bother her in the slightest
that the ones she loves
are incapable of loving her the same
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