For everyone
missing their mother,
I offer you
a memory
of mine:
She hugged
strangers,
invited the lonely
to dinner
in her own home,
fed everyone too much
turkey and ravioli.
Sometimes canned ham, too.
And she always
mailed us Easter baskets,
even when we were grown.
All that cheap chocolate,
wrapped up in too much tape.
I wear mom on my hips,
laugh as loudly as she did,
whisper her name,
cough a little.
What’s got me
by the throat?
Pollen.
The dogwood
and pear.
You know how
those spring trees are,
throwing blossoms around.
As if wastefulness
were okay.
As if we all will be.
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#KatherinesCoffeehouse
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