To K on Mother's Day
If being a good
mother
means flipping
the color of
a screaming room
in an instant —
by turning a wall
of hopeless tears
into a
bright chorus
of giggles
with just one
look —
if being a good
mother
means intuiting
through some primal
sorcery,
that your child
(or husband)
is about to cause
irreparable harm
to themselves
(or others)
even while attending to
something else
from another room
or zipcode.
If being a good
mother
means earning a
PhD in online
pharmacology,
digging your way through
the dark web
of other mama stories
like it’s 1972
and you work for the
Washington Post,
just to confirm
that our pediatrician
is indeed
deserving of
her own degree.
If being a good
mother
means full bellies
clean tushies
fresh air
good hair
pressed clothes
instant drop-what-you’re-doing-
this-second-and-come-here-right-now
smooches
plus
thoughtfulness and kindness
and heads full
of important questions
and wonder
about this crazy
CRAZY
world we're blithely throwing
them into.
If being a good
mother
means doing
all of this
while ferociously
defending our
precious foursome,
being a devoted wife
a loyal friend
and an overall fucking
stunning
human being —
well then
my love,
it just so happens
we have a day for you.
but I’m afraid
it’s just only one —
one arbitrary Sunday in May
among the thousands
of others
I get to
sneak secret looks at you
from across this
sunny room,
watching you tirelessly juggle
the tired world,
always leaving it
a little better,
always leaving me
in awe.