Ryan Eisele

Rookie - 2 Points (7 Sep 1980 / America)

Radical Hours Of Mothers - Poem by Ryan Eisele

The rise of the mother has begun
Radiation emitting from her fingertips
Notable is her expression, her figure
The paging of her offspring commences

Scaling through the halls of laughter and pain
The view from her point is a disaster
Never mind that this is merely her hobby
The routine to her feels like a job

Doing what she seems to have always done
It's as if she were some eternal bush
The honoring of the roses it bears
The monsters it rears, the country's heirs

She sits down, flips the switch, a computer fan whirs
This is where she gets her grip
This is the prime time of her day, of her life
Notice how the world wakes up around her

Learning to adjust her temper to the moment
Of her heart's contentment, she will get her fill
The swamp in her belly where tadpoles grew
Now replaced by the bed in corner

A liter of Coke, a secret shot of vodka
Amber waves of grain on the license plate, a toy truck from Tonka
A bitmap image of the little tot
This is the genre of her node in time

What is her narrative? What has she to say?
How eccentric is she? Will we ever know?
Does she have a defense? Does she feel the need to give one?
What thinks she of the Now? Is she Aware?

These are the hours of the radical mothers, often overlooked
Never shown to you as a feature presentation
Taking it all with a grain of salt, there are some things you could miss
There's a jungle in there, where you might least expect

The hours of mothers, the radical mothers
The events of their day add up to a protest in effect
From morning to night, a little drama they construct
Now all is done, the day, it has fallen


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, December 5, 2010

Poem Edited: Sunday, December 5, 2010


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