For my Mother “Hope is patience with the lamp lit.” Tertullian The dark of night encases her smile That dangles off her lips Above the stroller beside her The curious moon echoes with a tilt Her hardy fingertips They have sewn and seen the stitches of tattered robes, raincoats and regret A lasting memory Hangs on breathlessly to the sandy dunes Her nails have become. A lonely street lamp burns light On to her lost figure But misses her frightened shadow that Races away from the clinging glow. Her eyes wandering to the vivid crimson of the stroller Carrying all but the infant she deserted on this boardwalk I’ll be back. Soon. But boarding the last ship, she knew those risky promises would go unfulfilled. Janice Huang ‘19- Spring 2017 Issue
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