Tag Archives: Mother

GRAVEL LANE

GRAVEL LANE

You turn off the main road
head east over the little rise
and down the long slope
to the buildings

Crushed rock, crushed again
talking back to your tires

as eloquent as Demosthenes
spitting pebbles at the sea

On ranch-house porch
half a mile away
sight blocked by
trees and hedge

she knows which truck
who’s driving and
what kind of day
you’re having

THE UNVEILING

THE UNVEILING

On the first anniversary of my mother’s death
I find myself in the middle of New Mexico
the day late, and a prayer short

I stop my Catholic nun friend, now
married and converted Jewish
and tell her of my plight

Also the hope that she
or her husband might have
some words to fit the occasion

The answer is yes, the word is Kaddish
and they are meeting with the Rabbi
to arrange the Friday Shabat supper

Myself, Dorsey, Paul, Maryrita and Dan
now five, the number of her children
sit in circle in the hotel lobby

Paul is a new Rabbi and a very sweet man
he forgets some of the words, Dan helps
I say “her Hebrew isn’t that good,
I don’t think she’ll mind”

I am touched that the prayer is of praise
and not of mourning, and the idea
that whatever good I might do,
my brothers and sisters too,
are her gifts to the world

This may be a poem about salt
there is something about salt
and her gift from our eyes
as we share

THE FIRST MOTHERS DAY AFTER THE LAST MOTHERS DAY

THE FIRST MOTHERS DAY AFTER THE LAST MOTHERS DAY

Slowly it dawns on Sunday morning
that you didn’t call nearly often enough
and didn’t send nearly enough cards
or thank her nearly enough

And even if
you put the cattle racks
on the big grain truck
and filled it with flowers
till it ran over all four sides

Even if you drove it to the cemetery
and dumped the whole damn load
on her single rose grave
it wouldn’t be anywhere near enough

BURYING MOTHER

BURYING MOTHER

All that time in the womb
mother and baby exchanging cells
mother to baby and baby to mother
from one to the other and back again

One becoming two becoming one
becoming two and the two always one

It is not the same with the father
invited pleasure or invading pain
there for a moment and gone again

When you bury your mother
the worms eat you too

A KINDER GENTLER GOD

A KINDER GENTLER GOD

As we look around the world today we see
with God as our father in trouble all are we

Fathers as you know, often have a tendency
towards discipline, judgement and wrath
while grandparents almost always
take a wiser, gentler path

There may be much to learn
as we choose, or create our deity
from the Blackfoot, Sioux and Cree
who still gather at Grandfather’s knee

MOTHER’S POEM

MOTHER’S POEM

The kitchen has always been the center
of the universe of any farm or ranch

She feeds their sleepy forms in morning
clothes them for the cold or warm
and prays them safe from harm

Looks out her window to the East
where barn shadows and rolling hills
greet them as they start their day

Men in firm direction to their work
children scattering to play

Then South across the lake to catch
the water’s mood foretelling wind or calm

Sometimes
sees in morning
mirages of cutbanks rising
like mountains along the Eastern shore

Or more directly to the South
forms of her old neighbour’s homes
rising and shimmering
like memories of her youth

Seasons spiral out and in from this center
crocus and buttercups in the greening grass
cactus flowers and the joy of newborn calves

The growing season of the grain
and golden glory of a well stooked field

The shortening of days into winter
and the ever present stars
joined by the dance
of Northern
lights

Within each season she has watched
the play of seasons of each day
men return from roundup
children from their play

While she waits always at the center
to warm and love and feed

and safely tuck away