Mothering me

Right foot, left foot,
right foot, left foot,
I’d say when I held my children’s soft
warm hands, teaching them to walk.
At forty, I say the words to myself,
right foot, left foot,
right foot, left foot,
I force my feet to move
through sad days of divorce
and lonely love affairs.
I long to stop and simply lie down,
but I push myself forward,
holding my hand, whispering
right foot, left foot.

Pat Mora

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