Connecting with Mothers
What is resolved when we talk?
Our talk pain and simple;
"How are you?" and "How is your darden?"
There is a bridge that we try to transverse,
But the crossing is never done.
It's as if on crossing she goes
To the far left, and I to the far right.
The center is open for others, but whom?
I offer my hand, hoping some energy
From my outstretched hand
Will leap across space
Touching her fingertips, reacting to mine.
But the air is heavy.
The sparks are weighted down, and
Never touching the mark.
She looks at me, nods her head,
Passing quickly before there's time to explain.
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