Sunday, December 2, 2012

More of my mother's words

Somewhere in the tumulous, the cumulous,
the ramble of my…

The currency of current affairs
is flame

fire that burns roof, shelter
heat that distorts, destroys

the reason—lobe of the brain…

throwers of the flame are also
subject to its destruction

This is a jotted poem on scrap paper by mom, undated (but late). I started to add the word “mind” to the end of the second line, but realized that it not being there was likely the point.  Moreover the ellipsis is there in her hand.

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