some poems

Mother's Portrait

I felt the lines with my mind,
Softly stroking each contour,
Remembering each curve,
Caressing the shape of her jaw,
Her chin, her nose.

I didn't need to.
They were always etched there;
Pencil strokes drawn
The moment I was born.
I could have done it blindfold.

I saw her eyes every day
In my reflection.
When I stroked my hair in the mirror,
She glanced at me and smiled;
I wanted to capture that.

A caricature of beauty.
Life's trials set within a picture -
Like Dorian Gray -
But moulded through goodness not cruelty,
Tolerance not prejudice.

Her chin lay on her hands,
Her eyes smiled as I shaded them.
This is how I will remember her;
Serene, gentle,
Captured forever by my hand.