Mother

She grows weary now; there is a certain

thickening around the middle and her

ancient limbs tremble with the weight of 

recalcitrant children still chasing rainbows.

She has mood swings, storm clouds and

much brighter suns than before; an unsettling 

of the seasons as she retreats from the 

remnants of a rapacious and destructive age.

Translucent as parchment, her skin shines,

tightly drawn in slow decay, her brittle bones 

laid waste to the unthinking chaos of time.

Yet still, her blood courses, blue veined,  

swelling the seas of consequence,

until all that remains is distant memory; 

And the knowledge, that conscious, unconscious,

there were few that ever marked the morning dew. 

Reviews

[h d e rushin]

My mother called me three times today (since she claims she cant keep count at 84) to remind me
of the dental appointment I have on Thursday morning. It is her way of touching me. Her way
of brushing my hair again. Calling is the same as pulling the lint and dead hairs out of the comb,
her mythologically "swelling the seas of consequence" I honestly believe.

excellent poem Beccy.... dana

[Gee]

A beautiful poem Beccy,one that all with ageing mothers can relate to.Very well done

[Olivia]

Very beautiful, I am jealous
very unique!

[W.k.kortas]

Oh, what I would have given to come up with some of the phrases--"the weight of/recalcitrant children still chasing rainbows", "a rapacious and destructive age"--in this piece. I could gush for paragraphs about how fine this piece is, but I will simply say it's one of the finest things I've read in months, perhaps years, and I wish that I had written it myself.

[Woody]

a unique description, Beccy! your word choice always floors me.
just like a punchline, the last line, I find, is a beaut.