Fake History


My mother’s been impatient and abrupt
for all my life, task-driven to extremes.
My father harbored passions; he’d erupt
with wrath or indignation, but his dreams
and deeds were loving – he knew how to teach
instilling confidence, inviting thought.
My mother seldom looked beyond her reach,
and little valued things she hadn’t bought.

I have one tender memory of Mom
beside me silent while I suffered grief –
that evening how I treasured her support!
But recently she took it back – the bomb
she laid was wrongful recollection – brief
and cold she falsely told that old report.

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