Mother Was Right
Sit.
Listen.
The ocean waves gentle on one side.
The seagrass rustling in the morning wind on the other.
Warm
enough.
No more.
As close to heaven as you are likely to be
in this life.
Feel it.
Your heartbeat.
Your breath.
Feel them slow.
Feel as they settle into a new rhythm.
Slower.
More steady
as you are reminded once again
what your mother told you,
that you are who, or where
you surround yourself with.
About this poem
Actually, I don’t recall my mother ever telling me this. But most parent types do. They just forget to tell us about the where, which is as important as the who.
Tom
