When I Was Your Mother

Out of the chipped and unsteady windowsill
I see the snowflakes fall.
How you used to watch them,
Your delicate hands braced,
Nose pressed against the glass,
So eager to move beyond,
To touch,
To embrace all
Searching for answers.
It was those times
When I was your mother
Could explain the tiny flakes
Blanketing the ground
Why they melt on the tip of your tongue
And will not last.

by Allison Bartlett

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