WHEN YOU WERE MY MOTHER

Image result for renaissance drawing of motherhood

When you were my mother, and mothered me, and told me what to do,

When you stopped your life for me, this was love—all love is, I knew.

They held everyone accountable in the psychology books:

Mother needs to love you, and your father needs to love your mother. Otherwise we become perverts and crooks.

That’s what the world in a dream, did; they put this truth in books.

We knew it was true. Until the sellers came along, with their new and fancy looks.

Mother in the store window. Mother in a bra. What did I see

That I hold dearly to my poetry?

What did I experience, that I hold

Poetry close, seeing normalized perversions sold?

They say to know what it is, look at where it came from, then

It is too late—if you fall in love with a snake, slithering out of its den.

Did she say goodbye to your father? Or, mother, did you say goodbye to me?

This room will be a stream for eternity.

 

 

 

 

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