The Ear Pull

Then she pulled my left ear,
mother...
The chiding,
it is, I know,​

for leaving you,
for hiding in their city.

The bloodletting
reminds me of home,
of belonging,
of what I’ve grown up to be​,
a slave to the month
—telephone bills and 96 pages.

Ode to Longing

I long...
I long to
slip and fall,
walking the tear-washed
green carpet,
sprouted overnight,
through many a
long nights, in fact;
too long,
I long...

To fall...
Run home in the rain,
wiping my tears
and muddy pride,
to the hot brew
in a steel bowl,
it's always steamy,
ready for me
on a cloudy day;
the fall...
 
I long...
For I am
too sure-footed to fall
in these insignificant puddles;
have too little time to cry,
too much of anger
to fear the stare
from those eyes
that taught me to love;
to LOVE...

The Bad Son

Like the helpless
roots I crush,
with her gift,
they bleed tears
for the deceased,
my soul...
 
Boiled and strained,
a pale, lifeless
piece of ginger;
it adds spice,
yet the bad son leaves;
a bitter taste, all that's left...

That bad son
I can never be,
but the bad son,
indeed, I really am!

Pic courtesy: One Bad Son, Canadian rock band

Mother Eternity

There, far out there,

in the verse where

their eyes meet destiny,

at the edge of the known world.

There, where they walk gingerly,

cutting barriers,

to meet God,

deep inside the expanding

unknown... Their ether, eternity;

and they find bliss!

I, while I walk gently,

crossing a shifting hedge,

to meet mom,

deep into life’s only constant,

her love... My ether, eternity;

and I find bliss!