Page 53 - vera-kilgore-heilig-her-poetry-lives-(2017)-h-morris-williams-and-marie-law-haire
P. 53
Vera Kilgore Heilig: Her Poetry Lives (2017) H. Morris Williams, Marie Law Haire
La Belle Dame
My mother’s hands are worn, the knuckles
Gnarled,
The veins stand out in dark relief
Against pale ivory mottled and marked
With scars of service.
My mother’s face is lined, The once smooth skin
Hangs now in wrinkled folds
From cheek-bone peeks. Her patient eyes
Look out with weary wisdom.
Her lips are thin, her nose drawn fine.
My mother’s face is beautiful.
I cannot see inside, but I am sure her heart
Is not a lovely lacy valentine.
When I was small she had a battered pewter jug.
She’d tip it up and pour out fresh sweet milk.
I think her heart must look like that.
She tips it up the self same way
And pours out kindness.
My mother’s heart is beautiful.
www.LakeCityHistory.com LCH-UUID: ED745F4E-57ED-4437-80F0-E2F47F5F57AC 49
