Oh Mother
It’s nearly Mother’s Day, just in case you hadn’t begun giving that a little thought. Speaking as both mother and daughter, it’s hard to beat something home-made (especially when your recipient is paying the bills!). If you’re up to it, why not write a little poem for your mother, maybe coupled with a bouquet of flowers, her favourite tea (I like Celestial Seasonings’ Tension Tamer, thanks), and a home-made card. If you aren’t up to that, the next best thing is someone else’s poetry, and I heartily endorse books of poetry for any gift, especially if you’ve taken a little time to choose something tailored for the occasion. The magnificent Carolyn Howard-Johnson and I have put together an award winning book of poetry designed just for mothers titled She Wore Emerald Then. The book has a beautiful colour cover by photographer May Lattanzio and contains thirty poems that reflect on motherhood. Two sample poems follow, along with a link to me reading the first one. JR McRae called the book “A book of finely cut gems to hold, admire, let their multi-facets flash their messages to mind, and the fine sharp edges of each plane hold the image indelibly.” In any case, and however you decide to celebrate your mother, grandmother, or the mother of your children, Happy Mother’s Day!
Mother’s Bed
In the restless night
when mortality lurks in every shadow
the blanket won’t cover your fear
and morning is a half-forgotten dream
vague and uncertain,
slink into my bed
the pillow holds a mother’s secret
whispered charm
you can sink your head into.
There are no demons here;
no whirlwind of memory and anticipation clouding sleep
only eternal warmth
a shared space
free from the ticking illusion
of time, motion, and change.
Here, where you are always welcome
nothing matters
except this peace
this place
containing every possible now.
in the primeval heat
four billion years
before you opened
one puffy eye
the chemical imbroglio
of our home
shouted your name
from the depths of its seabed
no more miraculous
than the smack of light
against your heaving diaphragm
in the random accident
of your arrival
contingency or collaboration
paternal will or
lucky break
makes no difference
you are life itself
the stunning complexity
of DNA woven
within each cell
culmination of every moment
that gave rise to this one
changing everything
sloppy, sleepy
spontaneous
perfect
your carbon atoms
common as the earth
beneath your first steps
the organised complexity
of your extraordinary
beauty
couldn’t be simpler
as you reach a tentative
hand
towards the future
KATHY STEMKE'S WEBSITES:
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