No One’s Mother

no one’s mother is the apex of parenting’s Bermuda Triangle

no one’s mother is a world citizen but lives as a refugee in deserted camps she falls between the cracks of paradigms of humanity

abandoned like a flamingo born too late the swarming creche carries on without her

no one’s mother is the old woman in some background of an early painting left after the estate has been parceled out to all those who are properly family

no one’s mother is a child unclaimed her love, unaccepted turns ingrown, like a toe nail , which eats the foot from within

makes her offspring limp but they will not worry they have already arrived at the place where they never thought they’d go

her baggage is heavy upon her back its guilt and failure is her legacy weighs down upon her shoulders her chest heaves with each step

throbbing, her heart has stopped creating new pathways arteries choose to clog

fear of the future guarantees isolation

there is no need to cross roads she has been on the wrong side far too long

her hunger threatens strangers whose nourishment is tentative

no one’s mother is a pearl polluted by sluggage scarred by rusted anchors former parenting has dropped

she wanders streets and back roads rides buses in the dark sits in boats idle at forgotten docks waits on the banks of rivers in the quick -freeze of winter for numbness and death

but no one’s mother will ever perish offspring, too eager to remain angry will ensure her eternal blight

© Diane Stevenson Schmolka Dec. 9, 2005

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