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.

National Poetry Month: Death Poem

For National Poetry Month I wrote a poem a day with my students and assembled a collection. This year's collection: Death, Life, Work, & the Words In-Between captures the early months after my mother’s passing, the early weeks after my son’s birth, and the early days I spent back at work. This week I'm going to play catch-up here on the blog and post a poem from each section. So, for today, here's a post about those last days before letting go of Mom. 

Departures

In the days when your departure

was eminent

but your outcome was still unknown

as machines pumped air

in and out of your lungs

and triggered your heart to beat

I whispered in your sedated ear

I urged you to acknowledge

an impending arrival

The night before there had been the taking

of an unexpected test

and the surprise prospect of a new life

so I hoped this news

might delay your departure

might be something to fend off what was coming

but there was never an acknowledgement

never the happy spark in your eyes

of grandmother-hood all over again

and days later your departure

seemed a cruel trick

with this new life swelling toward arrival.

On the Eve of My 41st Birthday

This will be my first birthday without my mom.

Mom and me :)

41 years ago she cleaned the house. I imagine her folding the laundry, picking up after her three and five-year-old, putting away dishes. She thinks maybe all that activity helped things along, made her water break.

A neighbor came over to watch my siblings while Dad drove Mom to the hospital. April is still cold in Bend and that's what Mom remembers about the drive: that her feet were cold and Dad refused to run a red light.

It wasn't the easy birth the third baby is supposed to be. There was back labor and my shoulders were too wide for the birth canal. But I arrived all the same, on a cold April morning.

Mom was with me for forty birthdays after that. I remember my little kid birthday parties: at the pool or a parade around the yard. And Mom always baked a homemade cake. I used to be embarrassed by these cakes. I thought she was being cheap and often wished for a store-bought cake with thick, white frosting. But now I wish for one of those cakes, or for the cherry crunch my sister and I often requested.

As an adult, on my birthday, Mom always called. She always sent a card in the mail, and sometimes a little gift, something she saw that made her think of me. But this year, and I'm sure for every birthday to come, I will remember Mom. I will remember all of the wonderful ways she taught me to celebrate. I will remember all of the ways she made me feel special. And that will forever be my gift from her.