Tuesday, April 24, 2012

A Mother's Armor

flawed conscience, negligence of intent
she has resolved acceptance of the imperfect
footsteps she has there left upon this dying planet

I see her there,
in that looking glass,
bending at the waist
drying freshly washed curves
like sun on stone after the rain
memorials etched there
by the ravages of life
this is not my body
she whispers as she traces
waterlines down her calf
with a terry cloth eraser
her hips,
soft, supple
flowing resonance
vessel of life,
see not this snapshot
and with it define yourself
marks in flesh as earth marred
by the raging waters of time
should the evidences of a life
lived be so unremarkable?
breasts once firm 
grow and release
liquid gold and with it she thrives
hips, nearly as round
as when cradled within
a babe yet born
skin, once clear and smooth
scarred, stretched, neglected
there are more important things

a mother’s armor
evidence of birth and of life
imperfect and altered