Mother's Day 2016

I only celebrated Mother's Day three times as a mother before my own mom passed away. This is my second without her. The missing persists daily, but feels even heavier on weekends like this. Here is a poem from this year's NaPoWriMo collection: The Equilibrium of Lost Change. It's inspired by the poem "Before" by Ada Limón about "the hazardous bliss before you know what you would miss." Enjoy... 

Before


by Ada Limón

No shoes and a glossy


red helmet, I rode


on the back of my dad’s


Harley at seven years old.


Before the divorce.


Before the new apartment.


Before the new marriage.


Before the apple tree.


Before the ceramics in the garbage.


Before the dog’s chain.


Before the koi were all eaten


by the crane. Before the road


between us, there was the road


beneath us, and I was just


big enough not to let go:


Henno Road, creek just below,


rough wind, chicken legs,


and I never knew survival


was like that. If you live,


you look back and beg


for it again, the hazardous


bliss before you know


what you would miss.

and here is my response... 

Before

On my last night in your house

we argued about your happiness.

When you came to visit, I was

annoyed by your exhaustion

before I knew I was pregnant

before your surgery

before I came to understand a hospital bed

and how doctor’s rounds worked and final goodbyes.

before decisions were made 

and I learned about death

there was the mundane

and annoying:

the conflict that only matters

with the ones we love.

Previous Mother's Day posts:

Happy Mother's Day 2015

Mother's Day 2014

Not a Mother's Day poem 2013

Happy Mother's Day

A year ago I posted this poem for my mom for Mother's Day. This was before the prospect of losing her became real just a few weeks later. The last line, "who will never, ever leave" haunts me a little, but when I wrote it I knew I would likely lose her in my lifetime. I also knew her influence would stay with me forever. In her absence, I've found this to be absolutely true. So even though you aren't here in the flesh, Mom, happy Mother's Day to you. Here's another poem for you :)

Dishonesty

From a very young age I knew

the one thing my mother hated most

was a liar.

Maybe that is why Mom and I

sometimes fought

sometimes had difficult conversations

about race and gender and politics.

She surely didn’t know

how her request for honesty

from her children

would one day backfire.

That her daughter would call her

on her white privilege ceaselessly

and casual conversations about network tv

would evolve into heated debates.

And now I wish I had been a little less honest.

Maybe a little dishonesty

would unburden me from so much regret today.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

A poem for you, Mom, on Mother’s Day 2014

after Sandra Cisneros’ “Abuelito Who”

Mom who is far away

and wants me to call everyday

who is pain and worry and naps at noon

whose hair has gone gray

who tells me visit soon

who moves furniture around the room

who is hungry

is chocolate cake

is hamburger and fries

is full of sighs

who tells me never lie

who says question what you believe

who will never, ever leave. 

52 Poems: Week 19 Not A Mother's Day Poem

I wish someone had given me the heads up about Mother's Day. Yes, mothers work hard. Yes, they should be appreciated, but the ads that run for weeks in advance are just Valentine's Day reruns. This is only my second Mother's Day as a mother, so it took me a while to figure out that all the expectations people put into Valentine's Day, Teacher Appreciation Week, and yes, Mother's Day are all about getting people to spend money and setting people up for disappointment.

David is still trying to figure out where I stand on the whole Mother's Day thing so he let me sleep in this morning. He helped Kiara make a cute little card and took his mom, Kiara, and me to the Dodger game.  But tonight, as I folded Kiara's laundry and started dinner I had to catch myself from being all, "Why am I doing this? It's Mother's Day." Whatever. It's Mother's Day. I'm happy to acknowledge and be acknowledged, but Mother's Day is just another one of those traps where other people are supposed to make me feel special. Pretty sure my mom taught me, only I can do that.
 
So, here is a poem from my 30 poem collection A Life in Revision: Reflections on Motherhood about the nesting I did before I became a mom.

 Anticipation
after Pablo Neruda’s “You Will Remember”

You will remember painting the mountain
cutting the clouds and raindrops,
framing the stars and shelving the books.

You will remember the showers in anticipation
of the girl to come: the cake and ice cream.
The tiny, pink clothes to wrap around an unfathomable body.

 You will remember the question mark

of who she will look like,
what shape her eyes will form.

That time was like never, and like always

Because now she is everything
and it is all waiting there.