What Wound Did Ever Heal
“What wound did ever heal,
But by degrees”
…Shakespeare
Except my mother was dear
…Very dear
Count me among men
Who can read and write
Count me among them
Who finds book a delight
No!
Not about intelligence
Mother taught me diligence
Scrapped for a living
So I could get learning
I am a dead woman’s sweat
My worries cracked her chest
My mother was my literacy
My literacy is my treasure
My treasure…is you
I wrote what you can read
She was its measure.
I never paid back
Never gave thanks.
Prodigal son playing pranks
On me,
She had learned to hope
Then died
In last breath still in hope
That I lose not hope
But what hope lies there
For a drawing man to hope
Last straw, just sank in
Wide Sea without and within
Wounds heal by degrees
But some can’t heal
Only permitted to blurred
My tears blur my view
Soaks the ink in papers
Forcing me to rewrite and renew
She will not want me to cry
Rather that I sit up and try
Dab my eyes, let the tears dry.
“I know who you are my son”
You are awesome”
Mama, you always tell me that
But am breaking down.
Your lose never healed
Shakespeare said its by degrees
Said the pain will decrease
But I detest full healing
You were so appealing.
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