May 12, 2013

• Mother’s Day Poem

  Memory-Stream

  We enter the water together
  my mother and I as the waves
  wash over each of us,
  either in ripples or in torrents.

  The color of the water too
  changes, green entering
  into blue, receding then to
  brown, mottled with leaves

  and other debris like
  discarded matches from
  long-ago fires. We do not talk
  about the dead flies and
  withered branches,

  but instead, the shimmering flit
  of a dragonfly, melodious
  spring peepers echoing a
  cadenza over the
  water-song.

  • 1:41 pm
  • 2 Comments