Mother

Pointedly dropping her shoes

on the floor, she laughs.

She just swept. And mopped.

And put everyone else’s shoes

away.

There is deliberate

Rebellion in her act.

A quiet, momentary anarchy.

In her most victorious, almost convincing,

Confidence,

She walks away.

The shoes lay there

In stoic homage to her uprising.

Until later, when

She silently returns to

put them away.

 

 

Weight

She shrugs off the

expectations of the world

living free, if only

for the moment.

A life lost on

longing

for acceptance

for approval

for arrival.

Daring to allow

an honest look

at how beautiful she

really is, how smart she

really is.

How significant she really is.

A moment free,

then gone.

The world waits impatiently

to saddle her with its baggage,

to confuse her into thinking it’s her own.