Categories
Mothers Poetry Spirituality Women Writing

Mom

She stands tall

Wheelchair locked behind glass doors

Hands cover her mouth

As if the bite of Minnesota

Had chilled her to the bone

But no

It was to mute her “Oh, Oh, Oh’s

Desperate to contain her joy

 

Stepping from the car

She walks

Then runs

Falling into her Mother’s arms

She nestles her face into the crook of her neck

The scent of roses infused with jasmine

Ignite memories thick

Folding her back into childhood

Where innocence turned fallow

But is now reborn

 

Brushing hair from her Mother’s face

Her make-up

Grease paint thick

Rouge clown bright

Lips Monroe red

The application

Signature Mom

A gift to show her independence

 

Her perfectly coiffed du

Twice weekly done

With long, luxurious manicured nails

Complimenting her red stained lips

And a black velvet pant suit

With jeweled Prada slip-ons

The latest fashion coordinates

To prove her thinking intact

 

Nothing but pure love spills from her

Not the mother of her yesterdays

Crusted through time

But the mother who is filling her heart today

Her essence bold and sweet

Her sweetness filled with gratitude and grace

Coming to the end of her days

With a kind of certainty

That captures the heart

 

Her world bound in raw emotion

An unsettling night brings feces

Torn bits of paper towel

Spilt milk

The faint scent of urine

 

A good day offers memories and cookies

Afternoon naps and belly-filling laughter

“Tell me about those doggies”

And “How funny is that”

 

Tender devotion blossoms

She becomes her intrinsic nature

From days of crinoline dresses

And patent leather Mary Jane’s

Her mother returns

Living where she had always dreamed

Within the innocent beauty of the Goddess’ delight