Anyone who knows me knows that I revel in being a mother to
my three “practically perfect” children. I cannot stop talking or writing about
them. Being a cheerleader for me children has opened me to some many worlds I
would have never known. (Go Maroon and White Marching Colonials!)
But, when it comes to Mother’s Day, I have a love/hate
relationship. I love that once a year I can make capricious demands of my
children. (There is some glee in knowing their rooms will be clean once a
year.) But I hate the pomposity of
Mother’s Day. (I do not like it here or there! I do not like it anywhere!) But perhaps
it is our American iteration that I despise with all its pedestals of
perfection and paragons of virtue. I confess I much prefer celebrating
Argentine Mother’s Day in October—no grand expectations, just a simple call
from my loving son.
Consequently, I have written a short, derivative poem about
Mother’s Day. I read it to Daniel yesterday.
He got it.
After I finished, he looked at me quizzically. “Where’s
the rest?”
“The rest? “ I replied. “There is no more. That’s it.”
“Really?” he said, oh-so-cautiously. He knows when to avoid
a minefield.
I know what he was expecting—my usual positive spin. Sorry,
Daniel. There is none.
I have a friend who wears black on Mother’s Day. Me? I write
cynical poems.
Reflection upon Waking on Mother’s Day
In the chapel Saints will come and go
Talking of Mothers beatified.
And indeed now is the time
To wonder, “Do I dare? “Oh, do I dare?”
Time to imagine the lonely pew
With my padded hips and heavy heart—
(They will say: “Behold our mothers’ prim perfections)
My frumpled frock, which reaches to my double chin,
My earrings, broken yet dear, dangling past memories
(I will say: How thin is my maternal shadow!”)
Do I dare
Do I dare
Disturb this universe of piety?
Shall I stay? Shall I go?
All my decisions and revisions, which I constantly reverse.
And I wonder
Do I dare? Oh, do I dare?
Tent the covers o’er my head
To securely eat a peach?
Do I dare? Oh, do I dare
Stay safely cocooned
This Mother’s Day?
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