Sunday, November 7, 2010

Mother's Skin

Flawed conscience, negligence of resolve as she is resolving
To accept the imperfect steps she has left upon this dying planet

I see her there,
In the mirror,
Bending at the waist
Drying the freshly washed curves like sun on stone after the rain
Memorials etched in flesh by the ravages of life

This is not my body
 she whispers as she traces the waterlines down her calf with a terry cloth eraser
My hips, once were not so round

Soft, supple
Flowing resonance
Vessel of life,
see not this snapshot and with it define yourself

She traces marks in flesh as earth marred by the raging waters of cleansing
Should the evidences of a life lived be so unremarkable?

Breasts once firm now softened
They now have a life of their own,
grow and release like breath
Liquid gold and how she thrives
My tummy has only been this round
When it cradled within it
 Whispered prayers  
For a babe yet born

Skin, once clear and smooth like that of the babe at her breast
Scared, stretched, neglected
There are more important things
Like the infant tugging at her nipples

A Mother’s armor
Evidence of birth
Of life
Imperfections and flaws