Tethered Child

For mothers are the first educators, the first mentors; and truly it is the mothers who determine the happiness, the future greatness, the courteous ways and learning and judgment, the understanding and the faith of their little ones.


mother, you are out there
at the end of my rope

holding me down

I sit at night
deskside, pen poised

waiting for a muse
to goose me

waiting for love
from a trap door;

your unguents cannot now
nor chicken soup suffice me;

cordbound, clayshod
crude borne in the dark,

I await your messages,
all the pretty names

the panaceac creams
as the slack is taken up

and the kitechild drifts
to his limits.

John S. Hatcher, A Sense of History, p. 65

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