First Gurus

My mother’s wrists

all vein and tawn

retaining the dawn of youth

in their tender slender bend


forearms of fawn

And I’m drawn

to these arms.

Her withering charms.

Seceding from harm

in her weakening form.

She’ll be torn

limb from limb from the devouring


As the acid begins to replace her with tin

(the resemblance sets in)

I am in this sad spin –

As I’m turning and lurching

and graveyard-to-churching

I’m perching on preaching

remember the teaching

that my left hand is my mother, and she was the first I ever had


Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s