Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Free write poem like

Hospital with my mother
My hair has grown into this collection of soft nappy raw silk
Black and gray at the temples
I keep twisting little knots with my fingers
Squeezing and rubbing my scalp until it is sore
That is what I can do now
Rub my sore scalp and pray
Feel the oil between my fingers and
Be grateful my mother is getting some rest
This is no new poem
These are just words
To busy my mind
To occupy my hands
My hands that cannot erase her headache
That can only straighten her bed
So that's what I do
I busy myself with straightening her bed
I fuss over covers and fitted sheets and TV channels
That is what I can do

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