Driving down I80 at two o'clock
my mother looks out the window and comment
the snow on the mountains in summer
is beautiful isn't it.
Her poetic voice returns like a retinal image
flashing up like a sun spot
she says she received a rejection in the mail
my small stingy mind meditates without a stop.
listening to my mother is like bathing
it cleanses you from accumulated self-hating
rejection, trouble, the thin grimy layer of dirt
from touching railings and the grime from work
When I walk by the snow again
to notice 5 o'clock sun like an umbrella
yellow flowers on rabbit ears and robins in the sun
I hear her again and see the magic unravel
she creates with her words. I can
think again of the miracle of life
the microcosm of progress, where I build from
my mistakes and and scale the walls
of acceptability, success, and conformity.
all my bitterness subsides ebbing briefly
and I can breathe easily and watch
the snow shine in the summer sun.
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