Mother, Lover, Not Poem by Katherine H. Belle

Long legs stretched out
for what seems to be miles
on an old beaten rug

Chocloate milk stains
and drops of pudding linger
on the rough fabric of time

A child screams in the distance
beconing for you, his mother to come
But you sit there in silence

Tears slowly build behind your blue eyes
and you think, think.....
Is this what what i want?

A man in the garage puffs on his cigarette
Listening to music and drinking his beer
Oblivious to the family that he has helped to create

He scorns his child, and mocks his wife
And she, without hesitation or thought
Quickly apologizes for what she has not done

Her beauty and grace
a mere shroud of a memory
of a life she once had

Here hands are harder
Her heart is dry, and cracked
Her soul is broken

Her well of time is drying up
as she sucks it like babe
upon its mothers dry breast

Hoping that she can salvage every last drop