PatriC.I.A. Undercover Lover

a poem for my mother for her birthday..she was born on st. Patrick's day..i was born with both hands on the clock-face pointing to 8

20 2 8 from the start, the beginning, the beginning of my being. From the behind the scene, like a talented cameraman, protected from the lime light with rose-tinted glasses.  

Using her training to profile strangers, decipher a dream and to find objects that to others cannot be seen. Were shared strolls, at different times mind. Taking our sprits to spiritual places, we've sat alongside philosophers by running water. House full of laughter radiating from and around this special woman, holding a strong bond to the ice skating maple leaf holder. Attitude slightly bolder, friendship stronger than the retro stitching on an old denim jacket. 

Love to her family that could not be manufactured or packaged. The go-to-girl for most, Family knowing she’s there to listen, using her as a capsule as they vent feelings, they leave her with the burden. Wishing her a better life but not knowing what a better life may offer. A super natural entity, empathy a trait, to reunite in the next life, faith. 

Instilling belief while her bearer lay dormant. As welcoming as a doormat but not to be stepped on. A mother, loving that makes her kids shine time after time. I love her is what I’m trying to say, it’s not only one saint who’s thought of on this day.