Friday, December 15, 2017


The chair is warm, from the sun
and it feels so good
on my bum.

My mom at my side
shrinking by and by
in this place she lives for
forcing flowers between the rocks
Blooming stubborn.

Solitary, she has been
more so now, moving slowly,
steadfastly from patch of warm light
to heated golden pools 
bathing tired bones 'til they can rest.

Ane we come to her.
We all come to her.
To do, to help
as she asks passively 
yet with great strength of force
"would you like to...?"

if we do
or we don't
we do, anyways.

Some of us on an eternal quest to
Whatever it takes to elicit pleasure
which is seldom forthcoming.

The Joy always elusive

So, I sit and BE
with her
and accept resigned contentment instead.

And let it be enough.


Post a Comment

<< Home