Home
We are two 50-year old women
Relearning
How to roller skate
On my mother’s
Smooth, concrete driveway,
Giggling like ten year old girls
In between tears and stories
Of marriage and divorce,
Raising kids, losing pets,
And aging parents.
Home is fragile.
In an instant, it can be lost —
Destroyed by a fire,
Drowned in a flood of desperation,
Split open wide
By the loss of a loved one,
But we are wearing
Our protection,
Prayers like knee pads
To break our falls
And rise again.
I wonder
What my mother sees,
Watching
From her bedroom window.
We are all still
Children.
About the Creator
Devon Deming
I am a Southern California poet writing about, love, spirit, and transformation.
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Hannah's Challenge
I joined Vocal two years ago, a prick of enthusiasm beseeching me to throw caution to the wind, pay the readies and have a stab at a long stagnated pleasure. It worked remarkably well. I dipped in my toe, finding the water a little cooler than I had hoped, but as I stood there up to my ankles, I realised it was rather invigorating, and by the time I was up to my knees, it was pleasingly tepid. I dove in and swam out to where others were tossing balls about and wrestling over lilos and proceeded to have a whale of a time splashing about, sometimes missing my footing or getting water in my eye, but sometimes turning elegant somersaults and graceful dives.
By Hannah Moore6 days ago in Writers
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