A stick of clay: brown horse, a star, a wish--
I thank my daughter for this
Mother's Day passed, for me
In my own mother's garden:
Her hostas and geraniums,
An old desk adorned with pots of flowers
Her pride in her garden
The same garden, silent for three years
Since my father died,
It once hosted tea parties
I remember him well with binoculars
At that table, there--
Searching blue sky for birds--
Birthday parties, celebrations
So many gatherings
So many photos of what is gone
Yet, still unfurling
Stubborn, refusing to die
We laughted until we cried
And celebrated ourselves,
As only mothers can do
Unselfishly
What it means
To plan your own celebration
And be happy you did
Only we understand
Each other
It was all so you could gather
with your children and grandchildren
In a beautiful space
Yes, I planted flowers for myself
And all who would come!
(Isn't that the definition of mother?)
Between my husband and I
There is but one parent left
I ask, is that a blessing
Or, a burden, to be left
To rebuild your garden alone
Beautiful heartfelt post...
ReplyDeleteWe buried Ted's dad's ashes on the day before Mothers Day, right beside the ashes of Ted\s mom. Neither of us have living parents now, just souls on the other side to pray for.
Oh, that is beautiful, Shirley. May they rest in peace together until you see them again.
DeleteI had so many thoughts and feelings that I couldn’t write anything. I will say that love is a gift Always.
ReplyDelete