Tags

, , , , , , , , , , ,

 

Think of yourself motherless
In this false, frail world.
This world where you don’t touch blood,
Or suffering, or death, but hope
Someone will be there to touch yours.

She pulled my hand to her bare breast,
Cupped it underneath,
Rested the heft of it,
In my palm:

Do you feel it, she asked.
I feel it,
I said. I feel it.

Advertisements