(1967 - / Ohama / Nebraska)

Another Poem For Mothers

Mother, I'm trying
to write
a poem to you—

which is how most
poems to mothers must
begin—or, What I've wanted
to say, Mother...but we
as children of mothers,
even when mothers ourselves,

cannot bear our poems
to them. Poems to
mothers make us feel

little again. How to describe
that world that mothers spin
and consume and trap

and love us in, that spreads
for years and men and miles?
Those particular hands that could

smooth anything: butter on bread,
cool sheets or weather. It's
the wonder of them, good or bad,

those mother-hands that pet
and shape and slap,
that sew you together
the pieces of a better house
or life in which you'll try
to live. Mother,

I've done no better
than the others, but for now,
here is your clever failure.

User Rating: 4,8 / 5 ( 8 votes ) 28

Comments (28)

How to describe that world that mothers spin and consume and trap and love us in, that spreads for years and men and miles? a very fine poem. Tony
With Mothers all over the world the amazing thing is no two Mothers are the same. We are all individual yet all one. Heartfelt write. Thank You
You penned it so beautifully dear Erin! Hearty congratulations for being chosen as the POD...10+++
Those mother-hands that pet! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
A wonderful poem, though difficult to write about mom but u did it fantastically.
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