It’s one of those mornings things happening that create shock or simply
anxiety of curiosity
repeats
the story of mothers held in wonder the perfection taken in great gulps alongside
disquieting disregard for of course they know better but the attention is something after all
this
shattered with time
like angels or madonnas admire through awe filled eyes of a young child
this mirror becomes polished with reality adolescents then inevitable adult
hood pulled away
just like everyone else
and also spell
twice or three times
too many once as it goes
what spell am I under
called to break
free
that lingers yet
mother senses
madonna wanna
be my own
lying in bed pain racked ready to be dust
I find myself
again just
like
that