I trust that you have been enjoying the poems of the very talented Danielle Boodoo-Fortune. Now, enjoy another of her poems, entitled Mother in the Morning.
Mother in the Morning
Mother in the Morning
Mother sips tea in her garden on
mornings,
abandoning the kitchen that echoes with
breakfast,
lunch kits, laces untied, and the
dripping faucet.
She sits on a cracked footstool in
complete silence
as the heat from the teacup rises up
whispering warm, comforting secrets
only she can understand.
There are sharp things in the ground
and her hands are soft
yet she never wears gloves.
She is not afraid of the damp, dark earth
with its shards of buried glass and
crawling creatures.
She has planted hope with her own hands,
seen it grow tall, and bright with
butterflies.
When my mother’s hands are in the dew-
damp dirt
and she is fragile in the quiet morning
light
I can see the shapes of sharp things
buried in her.
I realize how the fluorescent kitchen
light dims her,
hides that secret flower she is growing
That can only be seen in morning light,
and blooms only when she does.
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