Mother Bee

She sprinkles her commentary
with spikes of criticism
like a bee intent on finding honey
but stinging instead
strikes hard at the heart of the matter
manages to counter my aspirations
all attempts to swat away her words
are weak – she is my mother
and my sentiments are clouded
her jabs bite, inflame
and despite my apparent maturity
reduce me to childish panic.

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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

12 thoughts on “Mother Bee

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