A man of forty. Forty years the child.
His eyes don't see me but his mother.
His past. And like a child he wanders
Clean through the tunnels of his time.
...
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Masiela, seeing the title and being exactly forty myself, I had no choice but to read. A stirring mixture of vulnerability and empathy... really quite moving. Well done! ! Brian
I would not change a thing about this poem. It is a splendid reminder that everyone is someone's baby, even shattered men in their forties or older wish for their mothers to ease their pain. And if their pain is severe enough, they will in their dementia see their mothers in the kindness of others.
masiela this poem is a beautiful work of art. i love to reread it.
Hi! I’m Eddie Roa and I just got in to this website. By chance I came across your name in the list of poets and read some of your works. I have posted some of my poems today and yesterday. My style ranges from light to dark poetry (modern enough but not postmodern) and some Japanese verse forms like haiku, senryu and tanka. I hope you will bother to check out my work. Thanks and happy writing.