Moms Make a Hometown … Home!
Mothering has been called a thankless job, a hard job, a dirty job, not a job, and the best job in the world. Diapers, boo-boos, fights, tantrums, sleepless nights waiting for first teeth to come in or waiting for the end of first dates, any mother will tell you it’s not easy. Mothers do collect a small salary in the form of macaroni pictures, personalized dish towels, flowers, cards, candy and photographs. It is a currency only a mother could accept and would never spend.
Happy Mother’s Day Mom!
What Our Mothers Want for Mothers Day
I always wanted a homemade card and not to have to do any housework. That’s all.- Gretchen Catherwood, Paris, Tennessee
To spend the day with my husband and my babies having fun and relaxing. – Jamie Hopkins Jackson Martin, Tennessee
To sleep in and wake up on my own accord. – Aubri Henderson, Rives, Tennessee
Have a promise of a day to spend with each and every one of my boys separately, lunch, movie, beach Etc… One on one time – Hafdis Gardarsdottir Sigurdsson, Sarasota, Florida
To hear from and spend time with my children and grandchildren. – Linda Dugger White, Fripp Island, South Carolina
A scrapbook weekend away. –Jackie Hemphill Akers, Fulton, Kentucky
Just to spend the day with my husband and all the kids and not have to cook.- Brenda Gammons Sims, Union City, Tennessee
A picture of my kiddo. And some free time wouldn’t be bad either. – Jennifer Hicks Slack, Martin, Tennessee
No flowers or plants – period! Not having to do the dishes would be wonderful! – Karen Nieman, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
American Life In Poetry – Column 413
Every day, hundreds of thousands of us are preoccupied with keeping up a civil if not loving relationship with our parents. In this poem, Mark Irwin (who lives in Colorado) does a beautiful job in portraying, in a dreamlike manner, the complexities of just one of those relationships.
Mother came to visit today. We
hadn’t seen each other in years. Why didn’t
you call? I asked. Your windows are filthy, she said. I know,
I know. It’s from the dust and rain. She stood outside.
I stood in, and we cleaned each one that way, staring into each other’s eyes,
rubbing the white towel over our faces, rubbing,
away hours, years. This is what it was like
when you were inside me, she said. What? I asked,
though I understood. Afterwards, indoors, she smelled like snow
melting. Holding hands we stood by the picture window,
gazing into the December sun, watching the pines in flame.
Poem copyright ©2010 by Mark Irwin, from his most recent book of
poems, Large White House Speaking, New Issues, 2013.
Reprinted by permission of Mark Irwin and the publisher. Poem
originally printed in The Sun, July, 2010.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. Introduction copyright 2013 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.