I collect mothers like

charms on a bracelet

heavy on my wrist;

always on the hunt

for just one –


My covert obsession,


scanning the sidewalk

for another ; more luminous

than the last

longing for that glimpse

of my past

that never was

and never could be.

I felt her before I saw her

passing me on the street

last Tuesday,

kind eyes shimmering

light – filled , imbued with


I brushed up against her


almost casually

just to share a few words

to experience

the soft touch of her hand

on my shoulder as I

breathed her warmth

into my frozen


*”I am so sorry”

I say..

(I will lie prostrate in the gutter for you)

“It’s all right, my dear”

she says

(she has no subtext)
I fall into her

silently hoping

maybe this time –

just for a moment

I could believe

she was mine.

My real life

mother is the antithesis

of soft

all hard lines and planes

no give there ..

no breathing space

for me

to arrive.

This morning

lying in my bed

watching the light

play off my heart –

shaped mobile

a thought kept

trilling though

my mind

like a tiny hopeful


what if –

I can raise myself

out of my mother stupor ?

leave the bracelet behind

tucking it safely


my indigo velvet pouch

and hold

myself afloat

by a sliver of

a hope

a belief

that I can indeed

someday –

become the woman

I have been searching