I am jealous of my mother.
she has still has me.
When we are together
I stand outside of myself,
and watch her enjoy my company:
the girl talk,
that look like fluff to everyone else,
but are really
a ‘ministry of presence’.
The longing for
what my mother has,
must seem fruitless.
I had my quarter century with my daughter,
that much and no more was allotted to me.
she is allotted twice those years
and maybe more..
(For better or for worse,
As I am not the charmer I once was...)
when I see my mother
(out of the corner of my mind’s eye),
most times full of pride,
I watch her watch me.
I am jealous.
she still has her girl,
her first born daughter,
she still has the pleasure of my company
(for better or for worse)
and what she has…
can never be…
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