Friday, 25 April 2014

Lisa Gordon Photography

I love nights
When it smells jasmine
And moths fly
I love moths
When they rush to taste light
I love dreadlocks
They are my banyans
Under which
I lay my head and sleep
In the day
From the arched door
A face emerges
She comes and tells me
“I am your mother”
I don’t know her
But her eyes are tearful
And what’s a mother anyway?

Posted for Artistic Interpretations with Margaret – Willard Asylum @ Real Toads