Sunday, May 13, 2012

Mother's Day 2012

Long before I knew their name
my toddler fist brought you bunches of bluets
that you'd put in a tiny glass on your kitchen shelf.

"Honeysuckle" I first heard from you.
You lived in your own Eden of crocuses and lavender irises 
and your red lace-leaf maple and the cookie tree
and pretty, flower-filled window boxes.
I kept meaning to send you a picture of this
hoping you could tell me what tree it is.
You'd smile when I'd ask you to give me warning before you left, 
so that I could pack up and go on the big adventure with you. 

As foretold, we knew not the time 
and we were caught by surprise.
You've gone on ahead of me but you'll always be within me.

I love you and miss you.


st said...

I wish I knew how to talk to my mother about her leaving me. Leaving us. The way you two were even able to joke about it, going along on the "journey" together.

Mary said...

If you read my book (a novella, a quick read), The Setting of the Sun, you might be able to find a way to talk with your mother. You might read the book or parts of it to her. My mother was my best editor. She edited The Setting of the Sun not a year before she died. When she handed me her review, she said, "What you've written could bring great comfort to people my age." She was then 88.