1. Mother has eyes that draw me in. Like a fish on a squiggly-wormed line, I cannot escape, do not think of escape. Mom, Mama, Mother, Dear, hold me, hug me, love me. Reel me back into your protective boat for good. Pack me away raw in your padded chest for safe keeping, where I will not go bad.
2. Mother has eyes that feed me, water me, sing to make me green. You must know that your greenhouse, warm and yellowed with the evening sun, is better than your singing any day. I cling to this warmth like I cling to the sides of the clay-mud pot that you have molded. Mold me, Mother, mold me.
3. Mother has eyes that touch me like the two saucer palms she cups to bring me to her mouth. Do not drop me, do not drink me just yet, just hold me tight in your cushioned hands and look for your reflection. I am afraid when you strain against your weak arthritic fingers and I quiver inside their makeshift cup. You simply relax and let me slide.