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Mother

May 29, 2009

Mother

If love had an anthem
it would be your morning songs,
poured over a loved meal,
steaming,
and would drip like olive oil
and stream like humbled tears
in prayer.

It would move in steady measures
with shuffling feet
lifted over barriers,
like pain and weariness,
and be the scent
of a crowned woman
with grace.

It would lose its humanity
to become a dense rock
or shadow
or steel machine,
willingly.

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