Poetry Friday - they called him mother sometimes ...

They called him mother sometimes,
curling their knees to their chests,
arms around their knees,
with their soft wet mouths pressed
against his side in the darkness.
He liked to cradle them that way,
he could love them easily then,
softly laying an arm over their cool shoulders,
tenderly so they wouldn't wake up.
In his mind they were the children he'd never had
and never would have, but better:
he never had to demand, for they gave.

4 January 1971

Poetry Friday - they called him mother sometimes ...

They called him mother sometimes,curling their knees to their chests,arms around their knees,with their soft wet mouths pressedagainst his side in the darkness.He liked to cradle them that way,he could love them easily then,softly laying an arm over their cool shoulders,tenderly so they wouldn't wake up.In his mind they were the children he'd never hadand never would have, but better:he never had

Poetry Friday - they called him mother sometimes ...

They called him mother sometimes,curling their knees to their chests,arms around their knees,with their soft wet mouths pressedagainst his side in the darkness.He liked to cradle them that way,he could love them easily then,softly laying an arm over their cool shoulders,tenderly so they wouldn't wake up.In his mind they were the children he'd never hadand never would have, but better:he never had