Tagged: mothers

arms carrying so

prosperity hangs

prosperity hangs
by a thread, our
fathers and
our mothers’
tell us so –
we all respond
differently, hanging
on or letting go

** in the absence of The Daily Post from WordPress, here’s your daily prompt: prosperity

we promised that our

we promised that our
mothers would not call
each other when you or
i die, that we would
just feel it,
long before the
conversations would
not take place.
you have a plan
to haunt my dreams
serenading our george
michael. i promise
not to be prepared,
so that i can be so
unprepared for
at least one thing

for awhile – until

for awhile – until
it was bad form to do so –
they tracked time across

my right palm, as if it were
a new charter, an extension

because my mom knows

the things we inherit

the things we inherit
from our mothers
sometimes arrive
dull, like a distant
reflection that require
polishing. the
very same moment
arrives for everyone –
in front of a hot stove,
looking down into
the swirling
contents – one pinch
or two? chopped
or diced? did she
or didn’t she?


in my mother’s

in my mother’s
household and her
mother’s household
and the household
before her’s and
so forth
, there
was always space
for tea

in between the
task of making
ends meet. time
was measured
loosely on
the buoyancy
of a handful of
leaves, and
bitterness was
left at the
bottom of each
cup long before
we could say