November 23rd

a hundred and six years ago
a mild lament a warm breast
and I was born
to raise all but my own
to rise from poverty and shacks
to laugh strong and hold a head
that never bent
a hundred and six years ago
my dear
you were the heart of my chest
the long nails across my back
and the bloody tears they all would shed
a hundred and six years ago
an immaculate morning
and the days to be...