Mother

She sneaks up on me
and comes from places
I may regret
or rejoice or can’t shake
the noise of bottled memory
uncapped and spewing
a heart full of races
from her and to her and
then swiftly away
She sneaks up on me
in my familial stance
hands on hips
eyes lowered to see
who has harmed me
I cherish those times
when I had the chance
to mock her
to laugh and to
warn her I was
no easy target
She sneaks up on me
when I feel my hands
grasp my ample hips
and I tell her in memory
she no longer inhabits
the good in me
the mood that places
my hands on my hips
has no other reason
than to see at a distance
those recovery ships