Mother (Photo credit: racineur)

tending the garden
of her daughter’s hair
she hums a music box tune
and spins it into gold in the lamplight


her hands are soft
as she smoothes the wrinkles
from her mother’s hands
starched from holding the sheets too hard

countless rains
on her ironed blouse
water the roots
that keep her daughter close

oh mother
let me take the bags
from your shoulders
and take my hand in yours

i can carry enough for the both of us now

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2 thoughts on “matriatchy

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