Father’s son.

Sister’s mother.

Mother’s spouse.

Husband’s girlfriend.

The last, his

battlefield nurse.

I have never hoped

like I do

for parenthood.


My own and hers.

So that one day

she can say:

My mother did this.

My mother owned this.

Hurt and heal.


And then

there is that passed life


Once talked

through eyes.

Now write

the every day

across ocean.

Soul conduit.

I remember

the first time

I stood along

a marathon.

Burst tears.

Tonight I cried

for women

bursting pride.

They left all


And now share

their all.

And my all


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s