Mother – Alexandra Mayer

Slurred words

and slowed movements

like water.


She’s a swift tide of


the lyrical.

and pale.

the graceful.

and stale.


And her fingers

lean from years of piano



to light the last cigarette.


She wants

a body

of fire.


Or just

a quick burst

of anything.


But she’ll settle for the smoke

pouring from her lips.




And her eyes

match the twilight-

A subtle shift

from blue to grey.




And she’s convinced

that if you tore her open

you’d find a drowning symphony.


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