Mother

Mother

This woman,
worn and weathered by wind
and sand, her scraggly hair attacking
us, has a smile that tells the story of a fraudulent,
wasted life. The way she stands before me,
I can image her lost in a desert,
praying to God.

I ask myself, Why?
Why weren’t I cut like the others?
as a woman speaks on stage.

This woman --
a silver-haired, soft-breasted
saint of a woman -- sings the soft tale
of a boy orphaned in a busy forest with wild animals,
a forest far away, crying over
mountains, across oceans
for a mother.