I have been learning the difference between sorrow and despair, discussing subtleties with my dog. She’ll be beside me today, Mother’s Day, for a fourth annual salt chafe as my armor’s exfoliated. If only I had a method to scrape from inside out. A neighbor’s bouquet of blooms wilts as I watch, dinner invitations are declined. Each well-meant acknowledgment, not from my son, sizzles like salty tears rubbed into raw skin. If only they could evaporate, condense in a cloud and rain my love on him.
Joan Gerstein, originally from NY, has lived in CA since 1969. A retired educator and psychotherapist, she has been penning poetry since elementary school. For the past 5 years, until the corona virus, Joan taught creative writing to incarcerated veterans.