Mother’s Mantle
She wraps her child
in the old, soft mantle
though the child is
grown into a woman
she has raised
with gentle hands
and tender affection
her daughter shivers
as chill pierces through
holes in the aged fabric
a mother’s excuses
no longer explain
how they came to be
in the first place
through the tight weave
that could never rip.
© Neetu Malik
Some of Neetu’s Books
-
a nip in the air
swirling to my feet
one blushing leaf -
She wraps her child
in the old, soft mantle -
soft murmurs in the dark
don’t enlighten me
they leave me fumbling
for something real to grasp -
The marbles roll
on a patch of dirt–
colored transparencies
shine in the afternoon sun. -
I carve a piece of blue sky
for the dark days ahead
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