Super man, you say?
Supper time I say, mother replies.
No, really mama, I swear on shooting stars. She sees red, yellow, purple;
galaxies aglow. Gathering son into arms
she embraces void, fills black hole
with love

She is woman, and she doesn’t need to speak — she simply holds him and is present; an unconditional force of strength. His world shifts.
Atlas finds a way.
Atlantis rises again.
Avarice falls by the wayside.

She amasses place, space, sanctuary; love— that she offers echoes and resounds, reverberating & reviving
No more need for contriving or striving.
No more coiffed men offering condolences. Salvation from world’s annoyances. She abates.

Leave a Reply