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I’ll put it this way;
two electric mothers have I known.
One I laughed and loved alongside,
on summery bandaged days, the hours a pulling, unfelt tide.
The other rushed in, also laughing

when I had fully grown.

Now in a grassy eastern park
the one sleeps in a laughing mom’s well-earned repose.
I’ll dream her on a quiet night and laugh anew,
and remember her love of life and light, and you
who, as I hurriedly type, take coffee and croissant in a rumpled bed
absent your Sunday clothes.


Love is all around
as the dizzy poets never fail to say,
but look; it's a fact - the sunshine falls in a radiant sheet,
a confectioner’s glaze to make a mom’s day circle unbearably complete,
and where the bright light drapes down

it clings like syrup today.

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