Thank you for visiting my poetry site. I started writing poems to help me understand things better. It’s a tool I use to crack open a subject and poke around. If you have any thoughts feel free to contact me. I want to thank the editors who publish my work.  Be well. Michael




My mother takes the robe

from the hotel closet and the hangers.

Then looks out the window


and points See - you forget!  

She takes the Atlantic Ocean, folds

it over several times to fit


into my suitcase. And what about these?  

She picks the thousands of roses

from the carpet. And this?


slips the painting of the beach ball

and child from the wall. After telling her

these are not mine,


what can I say to the woman

who tells everyone I am the reason

for the flowers and the rain, and


the sun revolves around me, but

Sorry, Mom, next time I’ll remember.  She takes

the box of tissues, sweeps


every grain of sand off the beach,

collects the small shampoos, the plastic cups,

the coffee maker, all the bed linens and,


though I remind her we always

have the sun, she finds

enough room for the table lamp.


Appears in Pleiades,  2017