Mothers' Day 2005

I don't honor mothers for perfection.
Mine's too complicated for such praise,
but she has lent me brave reflection
to a part of me for all my days.

She was my most resolute protector
as I played my wearing, erring part.
Though she could be a disciplined corrector
I had trust in her good will and heart.

She was raised to be a deep South lady,
but a soldier native to Virginia's shores
persuaded her in manner far from shady
to come north with him and share his chores.

Slyly, shyly Mama tells the story
of my start when she and Daddy mixed
a rousing week and accidental glory
at the Beach in nineteen forty six.

Men may flex their muscles and connect with intellect,
but women learn their timing and so subtly use their minds
that sons are stunned by what they must describe as devious.

I think my mother missed that equal measure of respect
enlightened people pay without regard to gender's stamp,
but she was honored as a leader in her Baptist church..

Mama sewed and cooked and used a broom
with industry and sure economy.
She somehow even made me paint my room!
but spoke no physics or astronomy.

Oh, she'd listen through my wildest phases,
mostly heard my pitch, intensity, and rhythm.
Now she only hears my louder phrases
as she fails to span her deafening schism.

Mama is a reader, scanned these lines
(for those who chafe at personal detail).
She showed me that no one should be maligned
for skin tone, lack of wealth, or past in jail.

She might be a solemn matriarch,
but even in depression she is light.
My words will never wholly find their mark.
I love her, but I'm darker than her flight.

(c)WW Yoder 2009