Around the Eyes

i look like my mother
around the eyes.

Others have told me this
And i am taken aback.
so strange
to hear this,
my mother approaches things
so softly
and carefully--
while i have to watch
that i do not pick up things
with too much force,
lest they fly across
the room.

around the eyes,
ovum that i was--
i cannot fake subtlety
within an inch
of my life.
and she loves,
loves deeply
but with lightly placed
fingertips.

do you see my mother
in me,
perchance we encompass
the same qualities
while emitting such variation
within the parts of us
that are more obvious.
she approaches her tasks
with a grace
of well constructed ballet--
carries through precise intent,
daunting one
with the protective layers
she places around our shadows
when we are distracted.

while my every action
expelled through canon
no matter
how to be received--
she taught me unremitting kindness.
She, an emblem of idealism,
In a world that finds itself stark--
But i cannot think this world so bleak
If she appears in oysters
As part of the sea’s
Occassional generosity.
She walks calmly on the earth,
And though at times it seems odd
That a creature such as I
would spring
From her insides,
At other times
I am pleased
To not be puzzled.