Mother

Now
You remember the hand that struck,
And struck hard.

Now
You think only of your tear-stained cheeks
After yet another spat.

Now
All you recall is the frowning brow,
The angry eyes.

Now
You only see the contorted mouth,
Hear the voice scolding.

But one day,
In a future that only Time can tell of,
You will remember

The hand's caress;

The cheeks that were kissed;

The tender eyes;

The kisses of the mouth;

The soothing, loving voice;

And tears of a different kind
Will stain your cheeks (No longer chubby, never again to be round)
And a broken voice will call:

"Mama…"