Through The Curtain

Through
Filmy curtains
I sense
The brush
Of my mother’s hand

Gentle
Not rough
As in life

Maybe
Making amends
I don’t know
We were not
Nearly as close
As we should have been

Certainly
She is shaping
My fate
Like hints of sunlight
Dancing in shadow

Close my eyes
Brush
Momma
Brush

©2014 Jill Baker