deepest pockets

Some say it was an empty pocket...
that i came into this world
without the blessing each child has,
that has his own.

I never felt a breach, never lacked
benefit of grace and beauty...

my Mother was a beautiful woman,
she never knew it, or never let on.
In that old bent and yellowed photo
young in Honolulu, white orchid in her hair,
a smile that flowered upon her face;

after I knew her, in years that rushed
despite moments that would never end--
there was joy, and there was not, i saw
beauty, and bruises in her suffering--
marks upon her soul i think.

They disappeared in mornings-after
consumed by prayers of forgiveness,
with sunrise of love; days of doubtless faith
she burned and glowed, became
the closest star in my life.

Does the Moon know it is being held,
lifted from drift?
Would it kiss the world, embrace the Sun--
delight in the frolic of life in a balance--

I wonder now.

Did I ever kiss her hand,
rub my cheek to hers, whisper
the wonder of how I came to be--
came by great wisdom-- and to choose
these deepest pockets,

so full of eternal riches.

(c) September 9, 2010 Howard D. Moore
all rights reserved