my mother like no other suffers her suffrage
in rage the storm ignite her form
a peddle pusher drawn
warm as a stem
where flowers grow as firm a fern may bend
her art is everything kind
the beauty is in her beautiful mind
that translate to the page
it feels so good when we’re on the same page

the night is blessed she sleep to rest
her bones
in spritely dress she does her best
a nap she cover with a throw
to paint what ain’t now known
the rain may ache her toe
so many paintings she really should show

standing still she take her pill
she love those pickles garlic dill
roasted peppers anchovies she eat her fill

Raymond makes her laugh
takes a shower every morning
just like june she’s snoring
steps on the scale afraid she’s getting fat
to find a book that isn’t boring
the buildings maybe black
color them shiny or mat

there for everyone she loves
she loves everyone
accessible sensible benefactor
takes a moment to ask a question?
who am i now that Harold is gone?
68 years listening to him sing off key
he was her best friend

mom i can’t live without you
you are my sunshine and my rain
you are joy and Palmolive
you are ivory liquid-
the tide rushes into cleanliness
you take away my emptiness
mostly by stuffing me with yummy food.