Mother

Originally written on March 18, 2015

Right now you are God

Speaking in riddles from on high

Only you understand the why

The time wasting from your creation

While you, on your throne

Commanding all

And bending each to your will

Until our backs are nearly broken

Cannot be explained

You simply are that you are

In your dressing gown

That you keep pulling down

While you speak of lifetimes ago

On high with your remote controls

The TV, the telephone, the call button

In case you feel alone

On high!

High on nicotine patches and rejected air

I comb your tangled hair

While you speak in tongues

Explain the way photos process

In a dark room and yellow light

You strip off all of your clothes

And show me what your made of

A bag of bones

Broken and bruised skin

Addiction

And I find, that even from on high

With all your will and your might

That you never really existed

Author's Note

originally created on iPhone, please point out any autocorrect tragedies that I overlooked :)

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

in all the imperfections and the fragile bones, they are not the gods we thought, but very human and flawed...i lost my mom last september....i saw the weaknesses toward the end...the reality that she was not infallible....

dad too...in his 95 years, the one who took care of everything, was always there, always right...not so...just as human.

nicely done...glad you are back and writing again.

[JayceeC]

I love the narrative voice. To me this has two real themes, one at the beginning "I can't change you, so this is what I have." and the end where there is a realization of " Maybe it not who you were, but who I thought you were." Both have a very valid place in this poem. Our parents are never who we thought they were. I enjoyed the reading and did not see too many typos/auto-correct tragedies. Writing on a phone is a serious challenge, but you managed well. ;-)