for Julia
Let the wrinkles on my face gather you
the warmth of my palm relieve the throb
Let my tears melt the broken glass
you haphazardly glue
my breath to slow the tempest
that dims your smile.
When you are very young
you climb onto my lap
with your chubby feet
hold my downcast head
dot kisses on my cheeks.
Your wispy hair
brush my face
and in that moment
I see crimson azaleas
bloom in the window box.
It shall be our calling then
mother and child,
for in the beginning
long before we know our names
we press against each other
swirling, tumbling
in a terrain of perpetual torrent.
|