dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: mother

Muddy shoestrings

And faded stamp collections

Drag sepia paths

Of adventure

All the way home

To mothers with 

Perfected recipes

And laundry trails

Of love.

Advertisements

The young sleeping monster

Rests his snoring head

On a cave

Nearly empty,

Except for two bloody bits

Of bone.

Nothing dares disturb the

Solitude except one other,

Larger beast.

Reaching into the

Pocket of darkness

With claws outstretched,

She holds her breath,

Snatching and substituting

With invisible instinct.

Then retreating into the night,

She clutches

Her stolen piece

Of childhood fantasy.