Today you speak to me in the annoyed tone and acrid stare of adolecence
plate full of half-eaten vegetables and disdain
"Starving children could live off that broccoli for a week!" I scold as you curtly empty the greenery into the trash and slam your bedroom door shut before I can say anything else. So many days pass this way between us. You, trying to avoid me, me trying to still be your mom
but I remember
tiny youth plump fingers and pigtails,
a voice small and squeaky still needing my voice to guide hers,
chilly hands that warmed inside mine
and arms that once liked to hug like no other.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
Today you speak to me in the annoyed tone and acrid stare of adolecence
plate full of half-eaten vegetables and disdain
"Starving children could live off that broccoli for a week!" I scold as you curtly empty the greenery into the trash and slam your bedroom door shut before I can say anything else. So many days pass this way between us. You, trying to avoid me, me trying to still be your mom
but I remember
tiny youth plump fingers and pigtails,
a voice small and squeaky still needing my voice to guide hers,
chilly hands that warmed inside mine
and arms that once liked to hug like no other.
