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My Mother MAG
White polished shoes
A crisp white uniform that was clean this morning
She gives me her tired smile
And it's cold and lonely as an empty closet.
As I lay in bed,
I can hear her making tea in the kitchen
I get up for a drink
And I see her sitting at the table,
Looking down into her cracked cup.
I slip back into bed
Because I don't want her to see me.
Later, when she thinks I'm sleeping,
She fixes my blankets,
And gives me a kiss on my head.
Like a fiery spark,
From a flint.
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