Moments of Magnificence

In the wake of hurting my mother (and missing yesterday's post), I celebrate her significance in my life with a double-feature; yesterday's and today's poems will be inspired by conversations I've had with my mother, specific things that she's said that simply exude the utmost wisdom and eloquence.

She is more important to me than she will ever realize, because we are too hard, and the irony of being a shared quality does not suffice in suffocating its evidence in our actions.

"Moments of magnificence"
she said as we left the concert.

It was contemporary new-age shite
where the wrong notes are the right notes

called 'dissonance' and with
'intentions against intuition.'

My mother is not a poet,
but only because she doesn't write.

She thinks in poetry, though,
singing praises like "How could

anyone deny the grace of God,
_______the existence of God?"

as we drive into shards of light,
thin and dim and bright and thick,

jutting down from the clouds
grays and whites riding down

from heights and powers unknown.
And spiting her not writing,

she seems to have a knack for finding beauty
in cacophonies and Western New York skies.