she is, as is, to me but someone
gloom and doom and irrevocably
strong and proud, yet meek and weak:
mother, lover, and daughter to me.
she stands aglow, her chesting swells,
a simple shoulder slump entails a quiet
kiss 'fore her retreat to blanket cover with
tiny feet.
fair coffee hair she fans about
the arm rest corner of the couch:
she hums and laughs with the color TV,
licks her lips and looks at me,
and clears her throat before she dares
to inquire when I'll be coming there.
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