Mother, did you say something.

 His house was round and towerlike.
Tapering down and keeping the cold out.
But for Michael there was always something missing.
Some tragedy happening he didn't have the hands to fix.

The fine wooden panels.
The head and throat of the building.
Protected from the winds outside.
So kept inside the bubble.

In the pain he witnessed from the kitchen window.
The one person who embraced him until he could stand.
Until he could walk and eat by himself.
Until he he could see the agony she carried.

Bless the emptiness the long winter said quietly.
She couldn't hear it, her eyes searched the horizon for blue.
But there was only cloud wearing the pants of mist.
The upbeat father avoidant and cardboard in nature.

Inside the house where three boys grew to men.
And she silently existed in the background.
Sparing her loved ones the opinion.
That lurked middle tongue.

And sometimes in the din of family clamor.
She spoke softly about every unfulfilled dream she ever had.
And one would turn and ask...
"Mother did you say something?"