Mothers Closet Poem by James McLain
Mothers Closet
Her room so lush,
her manoeuvre is, in hips to sing.
Inside the door hangs me,
color, hues, silk, fades
rightsized out I hang, to use.
The one of so many,
never used, she picks me, out.
Always, to lavish gifts that, crown
her achievements, that give.
I hold her up so proudly, jutting jets.
I hug her, lushly, I breath daily,
memories river, of milk..to gaurd..
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4/19/2024 10:09:06 AM # 1.0.0.1119
