Updated: Jul 16
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her hair is that of a raven’s wing,
dark as a starless night sky.
her eyes are drops of ink on a canvas,
unknowing of what the end might be.
her skin shines like moonlight,
pale as its milky hue.
her wrinkles speak of secrets,
depicting a life of laughter and tears-
both joy and pain,
both peace and sorrow.
and her words,
her words can weave webs of life;
stories of both past and present,
stories of both young and old.
i call her 엄마 [mother].
Editors: Claudia S., Leila W.