Remembering Mom

September 13, 2017

The smell of bread baking,

and strong laundry soap,

it clung to her like perfume.

 

Faced scrubbed clean,

hands red and labor rough,

the smile of an angle.

 

Patchwork apron tied tight

in a neat bow, always humming

that sweet tune as she did.

 

No one left to call out her name,

she preferred it that way, after

years of neglect and abuse.

 

She gave all she had to give,

and we took it in turn. How

I miss that dear woman today.

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