My Mother Drowned her Sorrow

My mother died in the month I was born. She gave me life and left me nothing. I shouldn’t say that. Whatever her gifts, they are intangible, invisible to the eye (not true. I have her legs). Surely my love of words and music have deep roots in my mother’s soul. A soul she kept hidden from me, perhaps from herself, but underneath the iceberg of her anger, refusing to be drowned, a tiny sprout surged forward. My mother’s inherent love of beauty found an echo in me. I am the seed Love planted.

LBM 3/9/2020

my mother’s legs (don’t have a pic of the two of us together. Ten years, not one pic.)