Mother

For my mother

Sunset came
in multiple shades of orange and purple
spreading itself easy
accross a lazy St Louis sky.
I opened my womb
and from the abyss of the Mississippi
you were born.
I have always felt
my love for you
was rooted in this unspeakable
intimacy of intercourse.
But you grew up,
moved downstream.
From my gold velvet arm chair,
I watch the winter cold
engulf these remaining years
that flow south.
The love between a mother and son
is distant,
barely visible
in the murky undercurrent
of that muddy river.