Mother sat with us, my young brother and I
Beneath her eyes hung half-moons of darkness
Her gaze equaled diamonds, but still kindness
Warmed her smile, and I thought she would cry
Suddenly she pulled us into her arms
And I let my head rest on her shoulder
Something I'd opposed as I'd grown older
As if her love aimed social firearms.
My brother received similar abuse
He asked what we would do now that dad lost
The fight that cost the very final cost
"We aren't going to use this as an excuse.
No matter what mistakes you make," Mom said
"It isn't because your father is dead."