Tag: awkward, longing, love, mothers, mothers-and-daughters, poetry

My beloved has arrived, but rather than greeting him, All I can do is bite the corner of my apron with a blank expression- What an awkward woman am I. My heart has longed for him as hugely and openly as a full moonBut instead I narrow my eyes, and my glance to him Is sharp and narrow as the crescent moon. But then, I’m not the only one who behaves this way. My mother and my mother’s mother were as silly and stumbling as I am when they were girls…Still, the love from my heart is overflowing, As bright and crimson as the heated metal in a blacksmith’s forge.