Cynthia Eddy lives on the eastern shore of Virginia and holds a BA in Art History, Her poetry has been published in Willard and Maple, Emerand several other journals. She has been published in Third Wednesday, Eunoia Review, Epiphany, Z-composition, Deep South Magazine and in Emerge Literary Journal.
Mamas
I learned early on
That Mamas could do anything,
Make the sun set
And the moon rise
With a simple swing of the arm.
Their magic was a mystery
With one look you were
Turned to ice,
And with one kiss
Melted to a puddle.
Never a friend
Real Mamas kept your love
At a distance,
Though you knew somehow
Their love was never ending.
My Mama still expects
To be called ma’am
Still keeps a part of herself a mystery
Still makes the sun set
And the moon rise.
Pardon
You sliced through my gut
with the precision of a butcher,
my heart left beating.
Entrails turned bright red
being exposed to oxygen
yet you stood by silently,
not raving like the torturer of William Wallace
but with your lies and soft mouth.
For months I was left bleeding but alive
you stayed and stayed
completing the torment.
You begged for forgiveness
pleaded with my heart turned stone,
could I find a gentle corner
where absolution lived
you knocked and the door stood bolted.
Years have softened the stone
it crumbles into dust
and in that sand lies pardon.
© Cynthia Eddy
Mamas
I learned early on
That Mamas could do anything,
Make the sun set
And the moon rise
With a simple swing of the arm.
Their magic was a mystery
With one look you were
Turned to ice,
And with one kiss
Melted to a puddle.
Never a friend
Real Mamas kept your love
At a distance,
Though you knew somehow
Their love was never ending.
My Mama still expects
To be called ma’am
Still keeps a part of herself a mystery
Still makes the sun set
And the moon rise.
Pardon
You sliced through my gut
with the precision of a butcher,
my heart left beating.
Entrails turned bright red
being exposed to oxygen
yet you stood by silently,
not raving like the torturer of William Wallace
but with your lies and soft mouth.
For months I was left bleeding but alive
you stayed and stayed
completing the torment.
You begged for forgiveness
pleaded with my heart turned stone,
could I find a gentle corner
where absolution lived
you knocked and the door stood bolted.
Years have softened the stone
it crumbles into dust
and in that sand lies pardon.
© Cynthia Eddy
