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My Mother is Alive.
I think my mother is alive in my lungs
as I breathe a fresh, deep breath of relief.
I think she lives in my sunburned skin;
she vacations in my wrists, my fingertips
& flows through the ink of my pen
I think my mother sits in my brain at night when I can't manage sleep
she tells me fairytales
& she sings me to dreams
I think my mother is alive in my mouth.
sometimes I think these words are not my own.
I think she lives behind my ribs, and has made my heart her new home. .
I bet she decorated the place with
shag rugs & vintage drapes
hung pictures of flower pots
& spackled all the breaks...
-Mae
as I breathe a fresh, deep breath of relief.
I think she lives in my sunburned skin;
she vacations in my wrists, my fingertips
& flows through the ink of my pen
I think my mother sits in my brain at night when I can't manage sleep
she tells me fairytales
& she sings me to dreams
I think my mother is alive in my mouth.
sometimes I think these words are not my own.
I think she lives behind my ribs, and has made my heart her new home. .
I bet she decorated the place with
shag rugs & vintage drapes
hung pictures of flower pots
& spackled all the breaks...
-Mae
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