Mother

I saw my Mother, today. Some may say that often, for me, the sight is scarce. I sat on the steps, she straddled in pain, the walk  over to me. She looked, like her grandmother, a woman who died when I was a child. Grey and swollen, as if time had rusted, from the inside out. 
I felt like a child, today. Perhaps seeing my future fate. We chatted, about her garden, my father broke his glasses, he was cutting hay today. It’s quite an occurrence, to be bewildered, by one’s own DNA. The one who writhed in my birth, often writhed by my existence. Her body now shrunken, her gait so unsteady. I sat on the steps, she straddled in pain, the walk, away from me; and I felt like a child. 

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