My Mother’s Love Is by the Paintings by the Back Door

My mother’s love is embodied

by the paintings by the back door,

2 faces for her 2 boys.

My mother’s love is in our shared dances

by the paintings by the back door,

and singing ‘till we are hoarse.

My mother’s love is in the price of late night concert tickets revealed

by the paintings by the back door,

“I thought you liked Blue?”

My mother’s love is in the first time she offered me a joint

by the paintings by the back door,

when I was 13 and I refused.

My mother’s love is in her shadow that followed her

by the paintings by the back door,

from night to day from day to night.

My mother’s love is in the notification of her suicidal thoughts

by the paintings by the back door,

when she wanted to prepare me.

My mother’s love is in the cancer she faked when she told me

by the paintings by the back door,

that she had 2 years to live and it’s all my fault.

My mother’s love is in the aggressive shouting that

“By the paintings by the back door,

I did it because I love you.”

My mother’s love is in the move from studio away to home studio located

by the paintings by the back door,

it’s a shorter distance from the next hit.

My mother’s love is in the cheating of my step-father in the room

by the paintings by the back door,

she said she had to do it, to move on, for us.

My mother’s love is now located half way across the globe,

But the paintings by the back door

still remain there, and her canvas never hung on those walls.

For my mother’s love is

by the paintings by the back door,

but it is nowhere else.

It is not one for framing.

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