Mother's Day

Ah Mother's Day.  A most peculiar holiday, and my Mom had high expectations of it.  I'm not sure we ever performed up to snuff.  That I don't miss but I do miss her.  She found this poem March 17, 1985 in a ladies magazine.  I know because she dated it in pen, she was a dedicated labeler of things.  It reminded her of her mother after she died and she kept it fastened to her refrigerator until she herself died in June of 1993.  Then Dad gave it to me.  It's been on my refrigerator ever since, getting yellow and wrinkly.  I found a plastic magnetic picture frame to keep it in better condition.  I've copied it verbatim with the author's name.

Mother

(for Mary Ann)

 

When I lost my mother

I found her days later

standing in a field

of tall grass

 

overlooking

the sea.

 

It was spring.

 

She was directing the tide

with one hand

 

while organizing a circus

of wildflowers with the other.
 

 
She made it look easy.

 

Making things look easy

was something she did daily.

A little bit at a time,

she used to tell me.

 

I can see her at work now

on this page

 

putting things into place

one foot in front of the other.

 

Robert Edwards

Thousand Oaks, CA