Mothers and Lovers

My poems are chained to lovers
Talk of lovers spirals me
Purposeful
Into a land of similes and gregarious metaphors
Words flow into my cupped hands
Easy as sympathy
But when I think of mothers
Of quiet days spent on the beach
Moments gazing, together, at a violet sea
I think of a blankness flatness
No storms, no upheavals to scrawl
My mother and I
Infant child adolescent
Adult
We've been through all as one
I carry her brand
As difficult to transcribe
As love.