She drove me to auditions, to high school,
to play practice; she drove me into fights
that lasted as long as the years it takes
to get into the college she prepared me for.
She is beautiful still with short, wild hair
that exists like bamboo, a thick survivor
on the curb of her moods, our moods
mixed together like butter and salt
We're zipped into each other; both of us
studying in college like concentrated chefs,
both of us worrying about the inside
and what it looks like from the outside.
With infected blood, she still kisses me
goodnight, still drives me home from school,
gives me what I need: new glasses,
a can opener. She is the hero of mothers.
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lovely...mothers as heroes....my dear mother died when i was 7...and my stepmom..well not a heroe of mine...thanks for these words Richelle
ReplyDeleteThank you. I'm sorry to hear that about your mother. I can somewhat relate because three years ago, my boyfriend of now four and a half years' mother died. It was very tragic for both of us, as she was my "second mother," but especially for him. We just have to try and believe that they are in a better place.
ReplyDeleteliked it!I didn't expect to read nice poetry so suddenly,out of the blue..cool!
ReplyDeleteRichelle,
ReplyDeleteA lovely tribute to your mother. She should be proud of you.
Pamela
Reads like a really honest and heartfelt piece. I love that she's your hero but that you didn't feel a need to romantize her! Nice post.
ReplyDeleteRichelle, I read recently that good poems make us want to do something. Your poem makes me want to meet this person you've described with so much love and respect.
ReplyDelete