sleeping in
breakfast delivered
by mars and apollo to my bed
i am
sprawled divinely
woven silk skin upon linens with a thread count
proportionate to the amount
of life
asleep and otherwise
one spends in a bed
this day a queen’s throne within
a generational bed chamber
this room was my grandmother’s
i remember her singing a lullaby
to me here
my eyes consider the
tiny picture of my parents when they were
in love
on the dressing table
i came from there
the bureau stands
noble in the corner
wreaths of dried flowers hang above
the cherry wooden antique gift when i was ten
still a centerpiece at 33
early american
atop it presides a sweet pea candle in stained glass
a buddha statue
and two amethyst bookends whose loving hands
hold
salinger kafka neruda eliot pound yeats diaz
in the middle of the lifesize diorama
a jewelry box
of the highest order
within it exists a water mirror
an ocean view window into
another time
a favorite thing
cherished always
the holly tree
crone
stands tall
waving in through
the flowing sage curtains
foxfire sunlight reflecting
glowing smile
lazing
happily
on a
sunday
morning
One reply on “mother’s day”
Your the Mom!