I felt so happy for you when,
I read your poem about your mom,
and I felt sorry for me,
because I’ve never had one.
My mom is someone else,
She’s my pops daughter,
or my dads late wife,
she’s another persons memory.
My mom playerd piano
wrote songs and danced,
I have the vidieo tapes
but I never saw her do these things.
I know nothing of a mothers love,
a gentle squeeze or a mothers hug,
a “Did you hurt yourself,
let mummy kiss it better” moment.
I read your poem and,
felt sorry for myself a minute,
Than I thought “Thank you Steve”
You told me what it’s like.
11/01/2010
