Mother is glass
one day she is whole
the next she is shards
merely parts of a whole
hissing, reaching
cutting.
Mother is rock
one day she is solid and withstanding
the next she is eroded, pushed by the sea.
strict and sullen.
jagged edges
Mother is clay, molded into perfection
a smile that’s all teeth on the outside.
Inside she is melted, decrepit
cobwebs sticking.
Mother is liquid
cupping into gentle hands
warmth needed
rivulets rush through the blood
then slip through hesitant fingers.
Mother is wind
cool and safe, brushing hair away
from tiny faces
then tearing hard, bringing tears into burning eyes.
Mother is human
sometimes smiling through the past
fingers reaching hopelessly
clutching what can never be
hurt consuming heart
she is dizzy with placidity
gentle, but wishing
the past were a dream.