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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