I was a baby


Crying for my mother
Without her coming to
Soothe me – long before
She had passed away.

When I was a child I had
Terrible, reoccurring, and
Very vivid nightmares.

I would wake up wailing
And sobbing from the
Lingering terror, & she
consoled my demons away.


Everything I know about
Loving others, I learned
From her loving past me

In ways I took for granted.


Her love, like her cooking,
Was always a bit too spicy
& Oily for a delicate palate.


My mother did the best she
Could with what she was
Given, and what she was
Given was poison to death.


In life, my mom was certain
We would one day win the
Lottery. She ended hers legally,
Profitably, and power-ballsy.


Contrary to

“Ads are news.
What is wrong
with them is that
they are always
good news…,”


Aren’t “all
good news” for
Living children
of the dead.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s