flowers

a mother’s touch who can find

a warm bosom to lay down

a sleepy head

twist my curls

caress my tiny back

a mother’s womb

who should know

a pocket fold

umbilical cords,

a hollow air balloon

we all had to enter in

she carries me home

or he carries me

and they carry me

home, is the mother

I am cared for

her heart bond in time, not always dna

her gender what is to say

her skin might be gray

her hair not like mine

her eyes saw me for the first time, and the dark faded

her world, mine

her smell, mine

her voice, her words, her hug, mine

she is the bright star in my universe

and she’s waited for me all the day long

i don’t have to be from her womb, i don’t have to know her as my fountain, her hair doesn’t have to smell like mine, our skin can be very different, her youth can be from a different world than mine, her lips can speak a new language, our days can be divided up, there can be great mystery between her and I, but the thing that makes a mark on me is to know her as a mother