enfant méchant

Carol’s Mom 

When she smiles no crows feet MotherDaughterApronsPromo1pleat the corners of her eyes

or laugh lines groove around her mouth.

Fogged up glasses don’t slide to the tip of her nose

while she squints at her sewing.

No cigarette wobbles from the side of her mouth drizzling

ashes

or underarms flap when she waves.

Her hair is curled to a neat blonde casque

no Medusa grey coils dangle from her kerchief.

No greenish blue veins snake their way up her legs

or broad hips sway like a dray mare.

instead there is you

to cook my meals, wash my clothes , wipe my tears

and know that I wish that you were not my mother.

Portraits

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