MOTHER'S DAY

Your smoke is in my eyes,

Some might say,

Your cigarettes atrophied

The nerve, stealing vision,

But I have languages,

Touch,

Cultures,

Sounds

Voice.

The pitch of one’s voice,

The catch in a throat resounds

For me,

That hesitation,

That moment of fear,

Of caution--

I hear it.

I hear a smile,

And I hear tears. Sometimes

I hear lies. Sometimes

I hear truth escaping

Without the speaker

Being aware.

I hear illness--

Cancer or common cold,

Because

I pay attention

To words--

Those I hear,

Those I speak,

And those that zigzag

From my fingertips.

I feel words one letter,

Six dots, at a time.

Some say your smoke

Is in my eyes.

While I detest the smell,

Won’t permit it in my home,

It has its place,

It has its mark

Permanently imprinted--

A brand--

That identifies me as Me.

Copyright (c) 2011 by the author