Mothers Day Poem 2014:  "My Mother, Always"

A poem for Mother's Day, a reflection on the loving yet often tense relationship between the woman who raised her, cared for her, loved her and herself, the child who was growing, wanting to spread her wings and yearning to be free.  Yet, nothing can take away the memories.  Who was Mom?  Who is Mother?  Who shall Mother be? Always, always,'she will my mother be.

Anastasia Nell Smith Recalling memories of her mother and wanting to explore a deeper understanding of the relationship between her mother and herself, the author created a Mother's Day poem to to reflect on the loving dynamics.  Time and events change our understanding of who we are in relationship to others, especially our parents, especially Mom. 

In retrospect, we regret and we adore, we remember and try to forget but that is impossible.  We never forget.  Mom is mom, is "My Mother, Always."  The poem ends on a high note with Mom being Mom in her usual way.

Feeling compelled to write a poem about Mother's Day and cast into the "zone" of creativity, the author, Nancy Conrad, recalled memories of her mother and explored a deeper understanding of their relationship.

For more background on the poem, read the Uphams News Blog Entry:
"Mother's Day, My Mother, Always."

My Mother, Always

Savor the taste of "Breakfast by Mom"
Steaming hot grits and slices of bacon,
Egg-drenched French Toast with real Maple Syrup,
Warm smells, frying, a kitchen alive.

Precious, endearing, a tough cornerstone,
Caught in the conflict of love and let go.
"Don't limit my freedom," I'd think to myself,
"I'm growing up, Mom.  Don't get in my way."

If she, for some reason, were out of my sight
When, door open, friends pulled to sever the tie,
I'd find some excuse to go looking so she
Could ask me again, "What time are you home?"

"Be safe," she would add, the umbilical cord
Cut nigh unto birth but symbolically present,
Feeding me courage, caring, compassion
Essence of spirit for the adult to be.

Declaring my god-given right to become
A woman in charge, independent and free,
I only looked forward, no reflecting, no thought
That life could turn fragile and suddenly stop.

I remember the bad times when I was so rude
Insisting my person more important than she.
I remember forgetting to thank her for loving
The me she created and had to endure.

I remember the good times, our talks about life,
Companionship, cradling, her calling to me,
"Time to get up, young missie!" she'd say,
"The birds are a'singin, and you're still asleep."

The birds, they were singing when out of this realm
Mom's spirit departed, and did it look back?
Did Mother take note of her image emblazoned
On me, on my heart, on my view of the world?

Did she, like me, at the moment of birth,
Choose never to question, to re-enter the womb,
But embrace, resolute, with lungs in full throttle
Crying for her Mother to offer warm milk?

Born to new life through the labor of death,
Do you, dear Mother, have someone, a new mom
To teach you the ropes, the wonders that be,
To love you, protect you, as you did for me?

"I'll never forget her." That's what people say.
But I know my mom.  She'd be waiting for me
To open the door in my sleep.  "Surprise!
I love you," she'd shout.  "Don't you ever forget!"

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Posted: May 11, 2014    Nancy J Conrad