Happy Mother's Day, Mommy

My Memory

I have a terrible memory. This morning my friend told me that I actually wrote that poem in college. Though I have no recollection of it, and though i found it in my high school file box, it seems that I wrote it in my interpersonal communication class.

I could've sworn I wrote it in high school. Man. My memory is that of a 95 year old woman.

Quiet Light

[I wrote this in high school. I don't do poetry. There is no rhythm. I like it.]

noiseless,
hum of the porch light.
unfortunate, for her.
not for the doppleganger,
though.
a perfect decibel.
silence exudes from her halt;
not screeching to or grinding to,
for that matter.
the self similar knocks at the door.
it is loud, louder,
when it's quiet,
but not when it's louder, loudest.
she rewishes the noise,
from the twin,
who has not such powers.
the luck.
the light was on, welcoming.
switch was broken,
would have been off,
maybe.
the luck.
come in, I guess.
never a good time for them to break.
switches, that is.
nor to meet herself,
on the porch.