Mother’s Day Poem
I remember my mother, her old house,
the miracle of her love, her fingers
on my cheek brushing away the night,
the world coming home for breakfast,
her eyes asking if I’d been on the road
for long and was the traffic heavy.
Nothing speaks of love like her kindness,
not the birds swirling in the mountains
nor starlight in the trees. Nothing speaks
of hope like her silent prayers for me
in the morning before school or the bread
and soup she placed before me at night.
Some people seek comfort in a priest,
the way he washes his hands in holy water,
raises his chin to drink the wine. But it’s mothers
who divide the loaves and fishes, collect
the crumbs, sweep the floor, and find lost coins.
One day they’ll call us home for the last supper.
___________________________________
To read more about my mom and her life please click on the following: a blog I did called "Remembering My Mother."
8 comments:
Extraordinarily moving. I come from a background where these words ring very true. Thanks for sharing this John.
The last stanza is so wonderful.
the usual chills at the end of one of your poems. the lightness of the mother's touch in all the mother gestures. a crack of light comes in. she will be one of those calling us back to the last supper. it always is the myrrh bearing women who hold it all together......
it doesn't rhyme
I like the expression :"her fingers
on my cheek brushing away the night,".I think the many feel like you in this poem. Really, not bad. Thank you!
Simply lovely
Happy Mothers Day Quotes
wow it is really nice post
Happy Mothers Day Quotes
wow it is really nice post
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