why o my mother

shall i cry when he shouts at me?
that is not my way.
after i fall i rage.
shall i cede my strength to him--
the strength of my age?
i believe to shy away
would be to lose for us all.

i cannot be the same as the rest,
mother. it is my choice
to refuse to arm my fears.
the rest is history,
lost in the translation of years--
years i lost in the sound of my own voice.
in the twenty-third hour will my resolve still stand....?

my place is within the fire, not around it, my mother.

03/04/2002

Posted on 03/04/2002
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