Rising sun drops light

on the garden, two-tones

the grass. I sense indiscriminate

love touch my mouth, ears,

 hands. On these morning

meanderings I see holidays

in dawns, diamonds In dew.

Out of an unexpected rain cloud,

I let the May shower have its way

with me so I can feel my mother’s

wash cloth on my face. Her touch

 has give and sway. The cloud burst

creates a new sheen

on the fields. Thrush’s-egg sky

 assures to deepen as the day

comes into its own. Beyond the tide

of my imagining, my mother

sings her way through my bones.

 

 

Mary Lee
Western Province