The Baby Calls You to Its Crib
Pain is pain, it's ageless
And loneliness has no face
We all cry from different cages
And the crying does not stop
Until we are touched
My mom (HKM) was one of the biggest supporters of my writing a poetry book. She told me more than once to print them all out, put them on the floor and map out the order for the work. She'd regularly ask if it was coming, when it was coming, if I was doing it. Many of my poems, my babies, have never been shared here. I hope I get the inner and outer, physical and emotional support and gumption to publish the book, and share my poetic sentiments with a wider audience soon.

1 Comments:
Neil, one of the many hard things for me to get used to after my mom died was not having that person in my life who was the MOST interested in my creative work and even in just sharing lovely, unusual, and moving things I'd read and clipped out for her. The reflex to share my articles and other things with Mom took a long time to wane. I still miss having her -- the one who was sure to be fascinated with everything I achieved (not that she was very generous with praise), who "got" the things that made me laugh or cry, who wanted to see the photos from a trip I'd been on, or of her grandchildren.
I'm sure you will miss this, as well. But how wonderful to know that your mother thought so highly of your writing, that she was proud of you. That blessing you will always carry inside you.
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