Empty Back seats

Letters forming words

pierce the air, directly

in the path of the heart.

Pain builds up

in tears and lumps in throats;

they cannot speak emotions

coming to mind.

So much understanding,

met with adolescent knowingness; representing a say~all "truth ",

there is no point of challenging.

Giving up isn't a choice.

So, giving in will have to do,

while the eyes glaze over and stare

at the sad reality of loneliness,

and motherhood, creeping in.

I'm alone as a mother,

alone in the love I have for you.

Misunderstood,

misrepresented

missed marks ~

motherhood ....

quickly deteriorates

after 11, 12 years;

turning into empty backseats ~

badly ripped, cushions torn.

Edges and corners left,

of only hardened leather.

Unlaced stitching, poking ~

scratching sweaty thighs

in the summers heat.

Uncomfortable,

unpleasant retracts,

of an unwieldy teenager ~

ungainly silent.

Once at an arms reach,

now destitute of holding hands.

No more fond glances

from the rearview,

where you once sat ~

beeping seatbelts signal,

like sing-alongs

in long ago car rides

of vehicles long gone.

Baseless insults,

like garbage in wind gusts,

thrown about.

Belligerent sentences,

like a drunkard,

stoned in the night,

whizzing streams of

balky comments, pressed

and bleeding ink ~

leaving streaks.

Kneading barren wombs,

brushing away any

motherly remains;

a life-force connection ~

a cord cut and discarded.

....

I miss that little voice,

calling for me, "momma",

"just one more kiss goodnight".