Friday, March 27, 2015

The Wind's Tricks

 With apologies to my mother.

South Wind, you mock me
As I grieve.
I implore the heavens for a vision
And instead am blinded by tiny snowflakes.

These tears that stain my face will never dry.
They are my gifts, left unspoken, to the children.

I think of my mother's face, creased in crowsfeet,
Lines of laughter and joy.

Mother, I am growing older too,
But my face is etched with a furrowed brow,
Lines of worry and despair.

I always dreamed of laugh lines,
Carving out memories of a happy life,
But fate had its own mind.

You were always the strong one,
A shining example to look up to.
You have vision.

I forsook that path for rebellion,
Teenage angst and a will for adventure.

Now I stand in the ruins
Of wandering whimsy,
The North Wind's winding path,
Abandoning me like an Ijiraq.

I will shed these tears for the children.
I hope they will grow old,
With faces lined with laughter.

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