It’s Mother’s Day weekend. Hope you have sunny weather ahead.
How nice to open my email and receive this poem from Laura Rodley, the Massachusetts poet whose work is often featured here and in other places such as the New Verse News (where her poem Pushcart-winning poem Resurrection appeared in 2013). She is also a freelance writer for publications such as Country Folks.
I can always count on her to give me something imagistic, evocative and full of feeling. These days we all have a lot of feelings. Thanks to Laura for sharing her work–it’s heartening.
Peace, love, and solace
Mother’s Day during Super Flower Moon
Who I hold, just seen in pictures,
her hair hand-cut, bangs uneven,
Pall Mall in right hand, drink
in another, black crew neck sweater
white sparkling teeth, glass bottles
for the baby lined on the kitchen counter,
who I hold, my mother that I do not
remember except for pictures, except
for the ride I took on the hood of her car,
as she entered our long slow driveway,
engine warm, except for glimpses in
hallways of long ago houses I remember,
who I hold, loved without remembering
the holding, the songs, the crooning,
born, without remembering the snow,
the day, the pain of birth, the pride,
the unlined faces smiling down,
grandparents on each side, delighted,
who I hold, her love of standing pines,
her love of the oldest sycamore trees in Delaware
her love of the ocean, Rehoboth, its sand,
reading, her love of knowledge, my brother,
my sisters, my father, her love of Pinocchio,
our collie, her being beloved: the only daughter.
Who I hold on this day forth, as on all the others,
give space for her to breathe, lay down
her burden of sorrow, who I hold,
this eternity of her leaving by choice when living
held no choice, no answers, how I hold
onto her hand, the one reaching out between,
who I hold in the space between, who I hold
so she ascends into heaven, out of limbo,
many years now, who I hold, arms around
the joy of her, her face I cannot remember
but in pictures, the joy of her, and us together, alive,
the tightness of our bodies’ bond reinstated,
who I hold, in a time past grief and mourning,
who I hold, as daughters do, the outlines of her hips,
who I hold, as children do, onto her hand, hoping,
who I hold, giving back what I was given: my life.
© Laura Rodley, 2020
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