My Mother

My Mother...
Just two words
yet they summon up images
so complex and complete, no other words are needed.

My Mother...
Ironing mountains of laundry
on a hot July day so steamy
her hair turned to ringlets that framed her face.

My Mother...
Sitting upright and strong,
despite her sorrows and fears,
greeting the mourners at my Father's funeral.

My Mother...
Cooking Sunday dinners
for her family and their families,
always enjoying the noise and confusion and love.

My Mother...
Unashamed in her grief
as she buried, in time, two sons and her only daughter
(the first time she took toddling steps, but not the last).

My Mother...
So complicated, yet so simple.
In love with life and laughter and learning,
I grew to manhood in the shadow of her smiles.

My Mother...
I will always treasure
the night we stood together in the moonlight
and watched the fireflies dance across the fields.

I love you, Mom.