I Am Your Mother For Mother Goose – since 1765

April 28, 2016

The girls of independent dance
stubborn casts of iron –
covered in stained glass.
They speak in low volume,
like sounds of hungry kittens –
burrowed in mother’s womb.

Splitting the egg of fertility
Creating a duo after the single girl.

The girls are a present for the garden
like the mirror in Snow White.
Their faces are of ancestors and spirits
in the bodies of blooming orchids.


Giving them guns and ammunition –
never a crutch to lean.
They forgot, mother was the soldier
marching by their side –
through their adolescent lives.
Taking the bullet so they could triumph.

Rock a bye baby
On the treetop.
When the wind blows
The cradle with rock.

Rejection is a knife in the throat
preventing questions.
Ripped from mother’s arms,
cutting the invisible cord
casting shadows on the door.

Down will fall baby


Learned never written
in stone. Taken
for granted and flushed.
Don’t ask for mother’s opinion,
they come back to
roost and mother allows.

Cradle and all.

They push mother away,
they don’t need mother.
They don’t want mother,
they can do without mother.

Leave them alone, walk away
don’t look back.

Down will fall baby.


Mother is like a wilting flower
in the hot summer sun. Turning
from light, closer to the dark.

When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all

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