Mère

My mother’s love is

the sunburned pearl color of her skin,

it is the sweaty shine of her unblemished complexion,

the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathes in unpolluted air,

her small hands which are curved so delicately,

as she sows a yard of silk on the tropical beachfront,

while these men molest the virtue of the better half,

and inequality becomes an infestation throughout,

as is the prospect of leaving this island untouched,

the uncertainty so disheartening that it hurts to sleep,

but a new day rises above the seas and brightens this oil canvas,

and hope is renewed for the strong, the driven, the positive,

and oh mother, my mother, how I love you so,

to so many heavens and infernos I would cross for you,

and carry your dissolving bones to your last cathedral,

until my legs break from under my small frame.

RTH

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