Mother of All

Her hand gently pressed against the table,

Conveying the distinct forms of ridges,

Carving the love she’s held.

The silver twines in her hair

That lay flat on her back,

Perfectly depicting every single struggle.

The creases and bags below her eyes,

Revealing every sight she saw

And every vision she’s had.

The love she shares,

The struggles she’s undergone,

The scenes she’s encountered;

They all beautifully merge to create her.

She will declare her flaws hideous and unpleasant—

But they gracefully express her individual being.