Mothers Tears

Light from the candle twinkled 

as the smell of wax surfaced the air,

I saw the tear marks, some desert dry some cool air mist run down my mothers face.

Her mocha skin shimmered in the moonlights grin,

She chewed the remaining bits of her nails that barely covered her finger tips.

She's worried glancing over at piles of papers marked urgent. She's sad, weary, and worried. 

Still like a statue I stood. Silent as mouse I stayed and still she felt me near. She would never purposely show me her hurt for she is my strength. The shadow of her arm called me further into the sitting room.   

Shyly I walked over to my fragile mother, her back cracked as she bent down to lift me into her arms.

For I knew nothing of her tears and could help with none of her fears. At that time I could not speak hope into existence so I sat my head on her shoulders and admired her as she cowered at the eeriness of outside.