When acceptance
becomes the word I must cling to
like a newborn to a mother
why couldn’t mine
have taught me sooner?
Waters flow
like nothing has changed
yet Sun and Moon promise
a new dawn will emerge
if I let it–
they let me feel
because they have never felt
themselves.
It is luck, I suppose,
for the hearts I wear like armor
to be more protective
than my own
pale Hispanic skin,
the body fighting
itself
it’s been years
and only now
did I bump into the word
acceptance
it is to feel
it
the four corners of a table,
each chair,
each pile of rays and souls
floating from an inner window
can see for themselves.
My mother has, too.
I suppose I can accept that.
November 26, 2014
A difficult thing to write about and you did very well!
Yes, for sure– I was even hesitant to post it at first. I appreciate your comment, thank you!