Too often, anymore,
and seemingly
more frequently
than ever before,
when fleetingly
your memory
seems to come and go
way too regularly,
this I know
I’m stuck here
quite stupidly
too angry to ignore,
look at me reach
so pathetically,
ever desperately
for the bolted door,
to triviality,
see the knob cut me
and directly
to the tender core
I ask myself,
have you never
had to weather
had to wonder
to yourself
in secrecy
sit and ponder
how I might of felt?
Is it possibly true
that those thoughts
fleeting through
the hand being dealt
both to me and to you
do you see
in the face of me
the very face of you?
It is very true
and truly wrong
but it’s natural to you
before being a Mom
I understand now
even try hard to allow
to make room
to accommodate you
because I don’t need
your face to fleet
here and gone
a ghost of a Mom
I only need
to be needy
for a moment
shared between
the mother in you
and the needy in me.