poem: shameless

 

I put this moment here,

Oh!

I loved you in this memory.

Fingers sticky with jam and cream and hot cups of tea.

It may be, that all the bruises and welts make me

A softer peach to eat.

 

However, I have done better than my mother

who has never been held with a tenderness

that could make a violin sing.

I wish I could scoop my mama, the orphan, into my arms as small as an hour,

until she smells like sleep.