My mother said

by guest poet Nolcha Fox

In my inner ear, I hear my mother’s soliloquy.
Death doesn’t stop the words she said.

Why is everything so hard?
You’ll see when you’re as old as me.

She staples me against the door.
But it is help that doesn’t help at all.

My wrinkles want to sag until
I am a puddle on the floor.

Much like the cake I underbaked.
I hate to say my mother’s right.

When will I be old enough
to be as smart as her?

Cover photo by Valeria Boltneva on Pexels.com