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loewen-s-gravesPoems
Mother, you grew up on honey and white bread, cream between your teeth ******* dry against the roof of your mouth And Mother, your dolls were always children -- you swore you'd treat them better, dressed them up in pink gingham cloth, ran with them through the jungles in your backyard, and that backyard swallowed you in secrets, you never questioned what lay beneath the floorboards where your father slept in the basement, you tangled yourself in the reeds Some days, you wondered why the walls of your house shook (they never knew you listened) and some days, the dust tracked itself along your skin like evidence, giving your hiding place away You sheltered yourself in paintings and broom closets, caressed your clouded heart against a generation built on dreams and divorce, the echoes of war aching in your father's palms -- Neil Armstrong landed on the moon the day after your birthday and you took it as a sign that you would never hold the stars in your hands Instead, you cradled a child against your chest, hoping it would be enough to save her from the sunlight in your eyes
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Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 2:32 PM UTC
for my mother, for the graying dreams she holds
Mother, you grew up on honey and white bread, cream between your teeth ******* dry against the roof of your mouth And Mother, your dolls were always children -- you swore you'd treat them better, dressed them up in pink gingham cloth, ran with them through the jungles in your backyard, and that backyard swallowed you in secrets, you never questioned what lay beneath the floorboards where your father slept in the basement, you tangled yourself in the reeds Some days, you wondered why the walls of your house shook (they never knew you listened) and some days, the dust tracked itself along your skin like evidence, giving your hiding place away You sheltered yourself in paintings and broom closets, caressed your clouded heart against a generation built on dreams and divorce, the echoes of war aching in your father's palms -- Neil Armstrong landed on the moon the day after your birthday and you took it as a sign that you would never hold the stars in your hands Instead, you cradled a child against your chest, hoping it would be enough to save her from the sunlight in your eyes
loewen-s-graves
Written by
loewen-s-graves
American
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 2:32 PM UTC
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