When Mothers Kill Their Young

Fourteen I laid my hand
on my mother's shoulder
in a stance of solidarity
i shied away from getting
too close to the lion's hold
in the glint of my eye you
could see fear and dark spells
in hers the helter-skelter
jangled cocky look of posing
for posterity
the flash couldn't erase the lines
of brittle holdings we shared in
that instamatic capturing.
These are 40 years walking since
and now smirks just fall to the wayside
blown to the winds of time
and lenses capturing innocence
are shuttered away in redundancy.

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