Wear my mother's pancho and rule the world.
She speaks as I dig in the soil and smell spring.
Layers of distance show the way.
Practiced at solitude and quiet work, health returns.
The sheets are clean and happiness washes
over winter dirt of tears.
Tenderness hides in folds of
love as I smile resolutely in a stance of
integrity with wild cards.
I live in her skin. She's gone,
but the connection is strong. Her words
pleasure or painful, made my mother's voice
echo in my head. She loves me.
