Hand

I thought that mothers hold their children
my mother's hand should be in mine
because she is my mother
but her hand doesn't hold me
or my hand
it slaps my face with the force of her
anger and alcohol behind it
but i don't blame her
nor myself because i know it is her way
may it never become my way
i hear her angered voice on the phone that
she holds in that hand
her anger directed toward the world
not her boyfriend
and not even toward me, but i am here now
we need each other in love and life
in a way i am hers just as she is mine
her hand is mine also
at least a part of me and what i will become
maybe more what i promise never
to replay
July 15, 1998