An Ode to Mother’s Day – and to keeping it in its place
M is for Mother and Mama and Mom
A human who, flawed, lives her life with aplomb.
She wipes runny noses and counters and tears.
The germs that she’s spreading are one of her fears.
And so is perfection, that miserable noun.
Despite her best efforts she feels like a clown.
Her kids grow from toddlers who give her big hugs
To teens who communicate only in shrugs.
She also fears Sundays of pride and of pedestal
When birth-giving women sound truly celestial.
She fears she can’t live up to glory and hype.
We all are so different. We’re not just one type!
She may be a doctor, a lawyer, a nurse
Whose churchified friends say she’s making things worse.
She may be a stay-at-home drowning in play-dough
Whose friends recollect that she used to quote Plato.
If only, if only we left it at home,
And let gratitude like the buffalo roam,
And praise her and thank her and feed her in bed
And twine lovely laurels to rest on her head
Or whatever else floats the boat of each mama.
But not in the chapel with usurping drama.
Sunday’s for Jesus, for God, for the Way!
Give honor and flowers at home Mother’s Day!