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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic



You want to place
Your idle thoughts
In order as
Your mother did

The clothes before
School. The thoughts are
Muddled; they are
As defiant

Children causing
Havoc by their
Your lazy thoughts

Unsettle the
Way of your good
Mother would scold

Such things. You are
Seeing the look
Of her eyes in
Your memory;

They peer at you
As eyes of an
Owl. Padma, she
Would say, her gaze

Taking in each
Aspect of you
From bare feet to
Covered head, you,

Child must think more
Clearly; the brain
Is a tool to
Be used, not a

Mere instrument
To be ill-used
Or put aside.
You always, as

A child, wanted
To be close to
Her, to have her
Arms about you,

But she thought you
Unruly, in
Need of order
And discipline.

You remember
Her small hand raised
To punish, but
Always it stayed

There in mid air,
Hovering as
A hawk over
Its prey. You are

Seeing the clothes
She wore hanging
As bright spirits
Behind the door;

Her hair combs and
Brushes laid there
Like abandoned
Weapons after

Battle. She will
Come full circle,
You will see her
Often in the

Mirror eyes of
A lost child’s gaze
As you walk in
Her shadow each
Dawn of the day.

Submitted: April 10, 2010

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Mistress of Word Play

I read this and thought of the conflict between my mother and I when I went through my teen years. That ever seeing eye scanning assessing my every move. I also remember my own daughter as a teenager and the same dance we performed. Though cultures are different we all have this thing in common. I look in the mirror and see my mother's eyes staring back at me. One day my daughter who has my eyes will see the same. Lovely and painful. Susan :)

Sun, April 11th, 2010 5:31am


Thank you, Susan, for reading the poem & your feedback and interesting memories.

Sun, April 11th, 2010 6:06am

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