Mother

Mother rings inside my ears:
She scratches the big empty as a cat would bat
The dangles of curtains and wobbling kitchenry.

She blares as a hot prod,
Thunders as mustangs across Chincoteague;
Mother is a peeling, daggering wind
Over the ancient, far Ionian Sea.

Howling, uber dimensioned
—Restless, so buzzing as a fly against the glass
She never seemed to simply be.

So like my mind she is full of motion,
Filling and dissipating in my brain
As rainfall screaming upon the ocean; green eyes as Irish dales,
Hands roughshodden,
Mouth lined and tobacco sweet.
The laundry always had a hint of cigarette.

Even in my memories,
The woman never sleeps.

© Copyright A. Marie Kaluza

This poem is featured in The Red Robe – buy the eBook today for only $4.99!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s