My mother’s birthday is today, and I wanted to honor her and everything she has done for my family and me by writing this poem for her. Happy birthday, Mom.
I saw her breathing deeply
As I stared through strands of tumbling hair,
Like little wispy veils,
Slurring my sleepy vision as I shivered at her bedside.
I was small and scared and four.
My mother’s sleep lay on her thick as quilts,
Lulling her tired bones to the rest of sacred dreams,
Filled with the iron ballast of a day of boundless worship:
Her living room worn by the hymns of an aged vacuum,
Choruses offered as sacred vespers,
The clouds of sunset filling her temple,
My mother’s domestic liturgy.
I see her hands fold behind her pillow,
Fingers faded by the baptism of dishes,
The scrape of cereal from the bowl and the wisdom of rags
Wiping away the filth of human failures.
Her forehead lightens as her mind replays
The wonders of laughter
And the splattering grace of the evening meal,
Smeared cheeks chewing on the Passover,
Remembrances of a body broken
As my mother’s bends beneath the steam of a swollen oven,
Her electric altar of praise.
My little voice whispers through missing teeth
That the dragon in my room was snarling again,
Its bared fangs aching for the taste of boy,
And I needed her to rescue my wet sheets.
Her eyes half-closed,
Limbs dangling from the strings of endless love,
She stumbles to the linen closet as I anxiously peer through the dark,
Searching for the twin braids of smoke in the shadows of my urine-stained room,
Trusting in the holy strength of my beautiful mother
Whose arms bear the load of a midnight sacrifice
And whose kiss can slay the dragons.
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