No Pablo Neruda
Essays on life, work and literatureArchive for May 6, 2009
Mothers Worry
Who knows what nights, what times,
Our mothers watch us
Who knows what sleep, what sleeps
They go without,
They break,
To touch us.
*
We know they’re there, the woken mothers
Tip toeing, toeing to bedroom doors
As quiet as the midnight sun
The loving mothers
Listen, loving,
Loving, loving
The sleep breath chorus.