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THE ART OF EMPTINESS
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THE ART OF EMPTINESS
What would my mother's dreams have been
if her forehead were kissed every night?
How strong would her flower-scent grace the wind
if soft arms ever squeezed her tight—
if she meant a smidge more
than scrubbing floors
and fetching glasses of water,
if she was held like acrylics
that paint the dawn sky,
or better still
held like a daughter?
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From To Mother by Andrea Hope https://www.amazon.com/MOTHER-POETRY-ANDREA-HOPE/dp/B086PLBTY4/
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