A Poem for the Loving Mothers

Bending bones, her 

Body became 

My castle

Cathedral, where

Love was worshipped,

She was there

In the quiet conversations


Murmured heart

And palm pressed protector,

My shelterer,

She gave me my father’s eyes,

Yet my skin senses are

Painted with her. 

I became scribbler,

Mattered mane of mayhem,

Loving hands held

Mudded knees,

She’s been drying my tears 

For years.

Ever held in the 

Sunlight safety 

Of her heart,

I smile to find

The parcelled pieces 

Of her 




art by Jennifer Van Der Merwe

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