Knapsack

With Mother’s Day on one side and Memorial Day on the other, I’ve been thinking a lot about my mom.  I can’t believe she’s been gone for 25 years.

This poem first appeared in 2014, in The Wayfarer Journal of Contemplative Literature.

 

Knapsack

It’s a shame

I don’t have the patience to garden,

my mother being who she was,

doing what she did with sunflowers

and lemon balm.

And with me being who I am-

a fine cook responsible

for so many glowing embers,

so many bubbling broths.

The memory of her is light enough

to take with me wherever I go,

propelled by the sea breeze,

pushed along by intimate hands,

drawn down muddy roads

slashed with the watercolors

of coming summer,

medicine wheels whirling

in my stumbling eyes.

 

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