something for my mother

though i am strangling myself
in these strings, and i know
you are more than eager
(more than eager)
to lift your scissors and snip,
snip– i know too that
those occasional tugs i sense
are not in my head.

i know you fear that
they are all that hold us together
anymore, and that i’m scared
to free myself of your net
lest there be nothing to catch me
the next time i fall.

i think, however
that if i loosen myself gently–
if i am persistent,
and you are patient, we will discover
that the only thing we need aprons for
is to splatter paint on canvases
(though i am still of the mind that
paint is much better on clothes).


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