Mama

There was once a time,

when I’d squeeze in between you and the sofa cushions,

cocooned in a late night silent session of quality time.

Hopelessly I’d doze beside your solid figure,

the glow of the TV enshrouding us in blue light.

Your young hands, dry and chapped,

(from baking and washing;)

cleaning and raising)

would run slowly through my tangled hair.

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