our mothers

          are windows

 

through them

          we see the world

 

and in them

          we see the faintest

reflection

of our selves

 

they are not easy to

                               break

but neither are they

unbreakable

 

to break them

          we run the risk

of injury

 

our knuckles crack

as does their glass

 

the shards

          can split our skin

to fragments

 

better to stand back

observe them

cool, impassive

 

than risk destroying

the illusion of

security

 

that we ourselves have

created