Mother

I am what she once was
She empties her hand in mine
grips the buzzing bee
hip and knee replaced
the bone cup that birthed us broken
this bone cradle fails her
eighty years spent in its hammock
bruises surface yellow and brown

A rat terrier snaps at my leg
tear duct waterfalls rage
razor-edged what-ifs take aim

Our mother of many mouths
rides a wheeled horse
aches for a plum breeze
We, her many
gather carrots and chrysanthemums
mend the broken water pipe
wash and fold
weed
wend aspen gold leaves

Slow bones knit
six steps out
six back
what-ifs flutter into fall
She water-walks winter’s chill

I am what she once was
fruit ripened and plucked
In spring her cane will bear
her barren limbs

Photo Credit: simpleinsomnia Flickr via Compfight cc

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