Who Is This Woman I Love
She was beauty, softness and she was grace.
She was loves maintained, ever giving face.
She was forgiveness in gesture soothing pace.
She trimmed my self-worth with maternal lace.
She was my one dependable home place.
Forever, I will gratefully bear her trace.
Now eight decades render her most changed.
No longer is joy or logic found in her campaign.
She clutches bitterness to allow its reign
as though bitter be her only lifetime gain.
She seems to fist, produce and seed blame.
She bruises the past with a grim, ugly stain.
How I miss and desire the woman I knew
whose wisdom aided me on and through.
I long for the laughter that would ensue
whenever we gathered alone, just us two.
I cry for the woman I always turned to
whenever I was joyous, confused or blue.
She is my beloved Mother and she is not.
My best attempts fail as her remedy sought.
I break in dark pieces seeing her so caught
in the bitter web of resentment’s sick plot.
I know not if karma fated her this distraught
or what spiritual truth may ease both our knots.
... CayCay Jennings
November 30, 2016
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