poems as hand- and foot-holds on a glass mountain

Cherishing Mother’s Day

Mother remembers what it was like
when we were too young to remember

After many passages
we begin to remember also
ours and hers almost matching

we’re years away
from prying them apart

rocking chair, fat-tire bicycle
a sky garden of beans, corn, strawberries

endless hours of labor
with little sleep

we were a left arm she lost the use of
and yearned for, sometimes clumsily

sometimes graciously when she accepted
that Mother’s Day is roughly 15 years

then it’s over. Like a baseball career
an episode, not a life
and we cherish only what we can let go

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