A haze of yesterdays returned, a slap slung round her face, as she spun.
Standing high upon a top, deep in thought, thinking amends all made.
A dizziness of misconception, remembered as an always error.
Spots of  mentioned misdemeanours.
Forgiven not, so sadly, by  the mother who treated them so badly?
She cries and tries and tries some more.
In a mirage of Chinese whispers, hiding behind truths, spread as margarine between the chain gang of a family.
Words between them are uttered shared, mainly muttered under breath.
The sinner; the mother, she so wants to stitch the damage up.
She is the mother wants to make friends.
The daughter, well she fires vile insults at the mother who cares, not prepared to bow in forgiveness of the missing respect, maybe they could have shared.
(c) LIVVI