Leading to My Mother.

I liked this poem…

They Will Climb The Walls

farm storm

Things would be quiet,
if I didn’t hear the weeps
that seep under the barrier
of a bedroom door,
leading to my mother.

And I know,
at the time,
I would feel
the need to cry too.

I always said,
“I’m a parent to my parents,”
because I remember
being 4 years old
in my mothers bed
as she sobbed.

With a brush I ran
through her hair
in deep strokes, pressed
against scalp,
tightly scratching,
because it’s all I could do
to make her body
stop wracking
from the sobs.

I was so young, I didn’t know.
I thought she must be hurt.
She fell.
Hit her knee.
Knocked her head.
Cut her finger.
But there were no injuries
to kiss better.
So I brushed her hair.

I didn’t understand
as I do now with the pain
I feel the same
of my own mother well-done.
It is…

View original post 116 more words

About Sean

I live in my own thoughts, chat to imaginary friends, and survive primarily on Snickers and Nescafe. I work full-time and study part-time for a BA in English Literature with the OU. Home is the North West of England, and my heroes are those authors that can make miracles out of paper and words…… “The man who does not read has no advantage over the man who cannot read.” – Mark Twain.
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