No Pablo Neruda

Essays on life, work and literature

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.

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