for the longest time,
my pillow case was
the only one who
saw me cry.

My grandma's hands,
My mum's lap,
My dad's chest,
Were ideal pillows,
But, my pillow,
My bedfellow,
My partner of crimes,
In all my emotional times,
Has a story to tell.
Night is when she lets go,
I, the pillow bear the blow.
I get tossed, thumped and battered when she is angry,
And when she is full of joy,
I am smooched with hugs,kisses
and cuddles,
When she is sad,
I witness her pain,
She can fool anybody but not me,
Her tears pour out on me ,
I am drenched,
At last she falls asleep,
Curled into a ball, hugging me tightly.
I smell of her, I love her,
I understand the pain of her tears,
The ecstasy of her laughter,
And all her secrets I hold within me.
She and I, forever together.
11/2/2019

there was no poem neath my pillow

no poem on my tongue, none from eye envisionaries, no dew gift from my grassy emissaries, parting residue of an unknowable finger touch

nothing stirring, the mother muses mushing their shushing noises,
only breathy quietude, an airy surround sound tissue,
the cadence of intermingled hearts, the mother and the child

two awakenings, one instantaneous, the other restless unhurried slow, but within an impatience to intersect,
the overlap is love stars crossing,
impatience weaponized to make
momma aware her companions refreshed status,
a needy for love’s suckling,
embrace of fresh baked smiles from hot heartedly hearth furnaces

thus a-born a new poem, a welcomed well coming, in words,
the alliance of alliterated words from the interlacing of the mother’s chest heaving and the sniffling joy of a five year old boy reimagining the dreams that crossed from mother to son, and back again, requiring composition and joint authorship of them

the only and only true authentic authorship,
mother and child, their owned unique
duality of singularity

Does moonlight impede you
Do you get the full view
Of the
Sun that lies within

It’s so hard to read you
You see, in the read-though
Of the
Book the dialect changed

Your shoulders are heavy
And you never feel your ready
Slow and steady
Slow

This isn’t a race
So why is your heart still racing
Beats seemingly replacing
Time

Time is a construct
Look towards the home front
It is
Always somewhere near

The night brings such sorrow
You feel no hope for tomorrow
It is
Storm clouds in your head

Raindrops on your pillow