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THE IMAGE OF MY MOTHER
My Mother tried to love Him.
This She told me,
and I cried.
Long ago he planted His seed,
which became half of me.
How can He be so much a part of my life,
which He was so little a part of?
Only the memory now,
of a little girl,
Daddy’s little girl,
once.
How can a woman look so much
like a man whose face she can barely
remember?
These questions,
my questions,
go unheard,
unanswered.
Will I walk down her path?
Against her will,
trying to love a man,
who returns only hurt,
but never my heart?
Am I too much the image of my Mother?
Can he ever love me?
Will he ever know me?
These questions,
my questions,
go unheard,
unanswered.