The Woman Who Made My Life

From the time I was a gurgling fragile piece of feather,

My world revolved around a fragrant heather,

My world called ‘Mother’.

Her tender arms around me felt like lotus petals around a bee in the ecstasy of the other world.

Always distinct, the scent of her love, that an exodus of perfumery wouldn’t confuse.

From a toddler finding joy in the long tendrils of her locks,

Like a palm I did shoot up…

And with time as I was hauled  into the rat race, came to me the knowledge of my self, with a head and heart of my own.

But never once did this realization crop the ties of silk bound around us;

Flimsy, slimy bonds, an illusion we never knew.

Differences came and did leave their prints…

Never on our bonds, often on my cheek

Oh! The many times that the vegetables have laid disputed, undecided on the dinner table,

The many moons that the finery lay unapproved of & crumpled on the floor…

Because the daughter couldn’t make her mind up and the mother couldn’t see eye to eye with the fall/winter fashion.

Of the numerous crushes I’ve worn the heart on the sleeve for,

All she had dismissed as toys of a teen mind, destined to last no longer than the last bubble in a clear glass of water.

But yet from the corner of my eye,

I could spot a tinge of concern mingling mangled with fear, and knew,

She couldn’t see her lily in sludge deep.