What is Mother’s Day without the kids?

Primavera, Senior Year
to Eve

As the languorous calm of winter ends,
enter gardeners, whirling bees–
riotous breakaway

And all the things I wanted to hold onto–
a child’s hand, cool as an oboe;
lamplight; reading
by the window

lying in bed with extra pillows,
talking to my daughter, texture
of voices like patent leather
straps overlapping–

begin to loosen. The velvet ear of
close attention has been lost to racier
attractions. She is all hunger and eye,
I on the sidelines.

Go ahead and throw garlands,
untighten, cultivate the longer hours.
Who, just who taught her
to shake the rafters?

Thanks to Literary Mama for publishing my poem in its March 2019 issue. Thanks to George Lange for the top photo.
Unending love and gratitude to the girls for the circus, the fun, the astonishment and beauty that keeps us so connected.

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