Mother's Day

My mother Sally standing at the sink
My sister Susan standing to the side
Drying the freshly washed dishes
Before antibacterial soap
And dishwashers.

Both dressed in housecoats
What a silly concept
Housecoats

They smiled
Frozen in time
Mother and daughter
Young and indestructible

Mom now standing behind the card-table
Filled with ceramic earrings and pins
She made from antique butter molds
Or something like that
Selling at the church bazaar

Ma, my father’s mother,
Sat next to her
At her own table
Braiding rugs and chair seats
From our discarded clothing
My daughter Gracie wears the earrings today
The rug is on the living room floor upstairs

Mamoo, my mother’s mother,
Collected political memorabilia
“I Like Ike”, “Tippicanoe and Tyler Too”
I stayed home from school to watch her
On Dave Garaway’s “Morning Show”
Showing off her collection.
The next guest played the national anthem
Rubbing his thumbs on wine glasses.
That was more impressive.

My wife, Christine,
mother of our children,
Sits at the sewing machine
Working on a quilt
Another stitch in the fabric of life
Another picture for the scrapbook

Mother’s day, just another day ...

Copyright May 2006, E. Bond Francisco

Ashes

One lone pine tree in the woods Just east of the house Behind the stone wall Each stone wrestled from the earth Placed carefully atop and beside another, Initial earth-bound stoney randomness Become design One lone pine tree amid the oak and scrub We stand before it My brother and sister and daughter and I. My father’s ashes Weigh heavily in my brother’s hand We speak in tears To each other To my mother, ashes laid there 10 years prior To the gods and spirits come to join us Breath of eternity creeps through the needles above Branches sway in long deep sighs We hold our handfuls of ash Let our fingers slowly open We weep and watch unseeing Some falls to the mossy ground below While the dust that is our father Drifts upward in the breeze Catches the light Places a gentle hand over all we know. ---000--- Later, at the airport I think to have my shoes shined. My daughter reminds me That this is the dust of my father’s ashes, And so the three of us Take one last ride together … ======== Copyright 2006 by E. Bond Francisco