by Samuel De Lemos


Soft like the caress of
my baby daughter Hannah-
who in the morning pleads
for her bottle-a mixture
of milk and Pancake syrup.

Who rolls her eyes at every
sip, and plays with her soft
fine hair while in a trance.

I used to do the same thing
play with my hair-it was
comforting. Now, I know where
my daughter gets it from,
she craves softness.

Women’s breast are soft
They introduce us to the
nurturing concept. We all
have drank from our
Mothers-the milk of life.

Marines in the heat of a
battle, after being wounded
and feeling the pangs of
death ebbing its way towards
them, cry out for their mothers.

Mothers how soft to the
touch. Like a petal
of a rose.
The epitome of
warmth and love-

That with our last
breath we desire;

Your soft gentle touch.

Your soft whispering words.

Your soft fingers in between

the stands of our hair.

Softly speaking, cooing and

gently rocking us to sleep.