! ! Poem For Mothers' Day

Oh we never know our parents… isn’t that the cruellest thing? we were never old enough to know them as they were; how I wish I had been just as old as she and he were; to sit across the rug from them and say now tell me the story of your life, don’t miss out anything.. how could I then not love you more, you strangers whom I fought to be myself; where were yourselves the while? * I’m crumpling this poem in my salty hand and throwing it into the wind whose wisdom may dropp it at your feet; your feet I never washed; would wash now with my tears; and then, perhaps, wash history clean, with touched hands, shared laughter; as clean now as ever after.