A picture of my mother
Face glowing with expectancy
A picture of my father
Eyes shining full of dreams
People tell me to respect my mother
“She gave you life” they say
Like life is something so great
“The cradle rocks above the abyss”
Says Nabokov
“They give birth astride the grave”
Says Beckett.
Mom did her best, but her gift
Came with an expiration date
And is colored with pain.
“She gave you life” they say
I respond, Yes, but she did not give
Me her life. For better or worse.
My father, however, gave me dreams.
His dreams.
Thanks Dad.
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