A Mythological Autobiography of a Wolf, poetry

Mother

Mother,
My mouth trembles to describe you;
Your ever present humility,
not used to this bitter poverty
brought on by my father’s unwillingness to work.

Those gentle hands
which wiped the tears
from my swollen red eyes
each time after the other kids beat and ran me home
because of my blood and long hair.

Oh mother, how could I not
go on remembering you,
Even when I was able to stand on my own
going off into the world by myself
You still loved me.
Even though you didn’t understand my reasons
and actions.
You always took my collect calls.

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