Mon, 05/12/2014 - 22:33 -- Ms Rose

Every summer Apollo paints

the canvas of Mom’s shoulders

with swirling galaxies of birth marks

that harmonize to form

a warm, textured glow—

a coded testimony of decades of sun lust


Curled upon her lap, I gaze with wonder

at the gleaming speckled surface—

lyrics to the song of her youth,

clusters of notes from a time before me

How I long to know that sacred song

draped around her like a shawl


Oh, the remnants of bohemian summers—

basking on mud-caked river rocks,

cross-country wandering and

existential seaside chats with strangers—

now only memories on her skin,

like stars that shine on after their collapse


Curled upon her lap,

I connect the dots of her years to create

my own song of a mermaid queen

and her country inhabited solely by talking sea lions—

a silent song created by a dreamer like her mother

on the timeless river rocks of the Youghigeny.


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