Mother’s Day

I remembered this poem on Mother’s Day.

The thought of it has lingered for days now. This morning I opened my laptop before work to dig it out. I changed a couple of small things in it, made a few small adjustments.

Let me know what you think.

I think about my mom so often, probably more than I did when she was alive and healthy to be honest. I am not sure what that says about me, her, or our relationship. I’m not sure it matters.

In any event, here is this – one slice of the pie that was our relationship.


After I pushed my marriage over the cliff
I came to your house
looking for comfort and support

it was dinnertime.

Dad was pissed that you
turned off the TV to
sit with me
on the couch your arms

around me like a mother.

In an effort to stay connected
we met for brunch
French restaurant

cherries on the tablecloth.

As we each looked out the window
you told me secrets I had suspected
things we knew made us

more alike than we wanted to admit.

Another time, dinner
a small dish of green beans
on the table between us
we ate them

with our fingers.

Over Kung Pao I asked you serious questions
What about motherhood?
You started so young, was it worth it?
You said: it will change your life.

What kind of daughters had you wanted?
You wanted to raise independent women, you said.
Smart women who could take care of themselves
we agreed you were successful

if that was your goal.


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