Disappointment

She perpetually emits via practiced 
looks that speak novelettes of how little
you have given her amid vast need she insists
she deserves. The greatest curse she can spout
is I don't know what she's doing. Because 
she believes she deserves an accounting 
of every thought and gesture, invested
as she is in living vicariously 
through someone she long ago decided 
she owned. Nothing mutual recorded 
anywhere but in her imagination.
This, she knows to be the essence of
motherhood, despite your not being her child,
bragging to all hearers you are family.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Beach Light

Ars Poetica 2