The Mother Woman

Tampered dreams create a film
of slush, steel and young men’s dreams.
Below the water is crystal clear
flowing with tears of an ancient regime;
title it society, plundered metal

psychic philanthropy lost in a fog.
Visions of a true woman, milk
rocking a new woman into time.
Gifted with sight, ugly, contrite;
replace a crystal ball with hand-washed

wet china -Who is the fairest in the land?
-Blood of a mother’s weeping hands.
Strength in a daycare’s mixed relief.
Power of the modern day, working without
straying grief for eyeliner runs faster

when a husband is asleep. A lone babe
cries under a distant branch.
Never alone, though thought plays that
game. Take that walking stick your
grandmother carried and break that barrier.

Drink, clear water awaits, drink Mother.

-Brian Minnick
 May ‘10