Mumma Matters Poem by Meha Gupta
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Mumma Matters
mumma ticks the clock
she changes the batteries
she waters the money plant
mumma lives on the green palms
she uses her own colour
she bends the slant chair
mumma writes for the newspaper
she hisses to the letters
she balances the drop on her finger
mumma is flesh and bones
she is that thing that takes up space
she keeps our doors open.
Sunday, August 23, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: colour,mom,mother
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8/28/2026 10:40:50 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
