8 May

i remember how she would stare at my face

looking for imperfections and

finding plenty

don’t Mom i’d say and push her hand away

there was a time before that painful separation

when there was no barrier, no distinction

between Mother and Me

she poured into my freshly minted mind

all of her dreams and pleasures

pointing out to me a toad

hidden beneath her carefully tended flowers

don’t pick him up, just let him stay

he is necessary for the garden

a part of the scheme

but such things cannot remain forever

like that toad i tried to hide beneath

my mother’s tender care

until one day she was no longer there

leaving behind an untended garden

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