Showcasing student poetry #3

My Mother

 

My           mother           moves           me.

 

Not with a push,

nor with a shove,

though that isn’t to say 

there’s any lack of oomph.

 

Instead,                                                                                                                          

                                                                                                           she guides me

with a suggestion;

a sense of exploration

a map sewn together with

gentle ‘eee’s and ‘ooo’s

that

         fall 

                 and

                           fill

my palm.

 

My hand holds sealed wounds

which wonder whether

they would ever have

healed without the stern

words and warmth shared

between me

 

and my mother.

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