My dear mum......

[white_angel]

I Write My Mother a Poem

 

Sometimes I feel her easing further into her grave,

resigned, as always, and I have to come to her rescue.

Like now, when I have so much else to do. Not that

 

she'd want a poem. She would have been proud, of course,

of all its mystery, involving her, but scared a little.

Her eyes would have filled with tears. It always comes

 

to that, I don't know why I bother. One gesture

and she's gone down a well of raw feeling, and I'm left

alone again. I avert my eyes, to keep from scaring her.

 

On her dresser is one of those old glass bottles

of Jergen's Lotion with the black label, a little round

bottle of Mum deodorant, a white plastic tray

 

with Avon necklaces and earrings, pennies, paper clips,

and a large black coat button. I appear to be very

interested in these objects, even interested in the sun

 

through the blinds. It falls across her face, and not,

as she changes the bed. She would rather have clean sheets

than my poem, but as long as I don't bother her, she's glad

 

to know I care. She's talked my father into taking

a drive later, stopping for drinks and foods.

She is dreaming of foam on the glass, the tray propped

 

on the car window. And trees, farmhouses, the expanse

of the world as seen from inside the car. It is no

use to try to get her out to watch airplanes

 

take off, or walk a trail, or hear this poem

and offer anything more than "Isn't that sweet!"

Right now bombs are exploding in Kosovo,Iraq students

 

shot in Colorado, and my mother is wearing peace and love sign on her face.

I know there no words can description what mothers do for their children...!

god bless all mothers

 

i love you hooyo