she sat there like an old lioness
presiding over her wounds
and when she told of the children she’d abandoned
some fifty years before
who’d turned out alright
I saw tears well up behind her eyes
take away that prop I thought
and the whole citadel comes down
the whole citadel
that I am reminded
houses the soul
then I remembered my own mother
her own props and evasions
and a sudden gust rippled my conscience
like wind through grass
that night I dreamt of a white horse
standing in a burnt-out barn
stranded and irrecoverable