Poetry Sunday

Today is Poetry Sunday, but it's also Mother's Day. For the last however-many years, I've reposted my original Mother's Day post in honor of the most important lady in our early lives, but this year I'm going to give it a rest and replace it with this wonderful poem by Carrie Shipers that speaks to the point each mother - and father, for that matter - reaches in the lives of their children.

Mother Talks Back to the Monster

by Carrie Shipers

Tonight, I dressed my son in astronaut pajamas,

kissed his forehead and tucked him in.

I turned on his night-light and looked for you

in the closet and under the bed. I told him

you were nowhere to be found, but I could smell

your breath, your musty fur. I remember

all your tricks: the jagged shadows on the wall,

click of your claws, the hand that hovered

just above my ankles if I left them exposed.

Since I became a parent I see danger everywhere-

unleashed dogs, sudden fevers, cereal

two days out of date. And even worse

than feeling so much fear is keeping it inside,

trying not to let my love become so tangled

with anxiety my son thinks they're the same.

When he says he's seen your tail or heard

your heavy step, I insist that you aren't real.

Soon he'll feel too old to tell me his bad dreams.

If you get lonely after he's asleep, you can

always come downstairs. I'll be sitting

at the kitchen table with the dishes

I should wash, crumbs I should wipe up.

We can drink hot tea and talk about

the future, how hard it is to be outgrown.

It's hard to be outgrown, isn't it? - to know that it's now your children that are worried about taking care of you and protecting you from your fears.

Happy Mother's Day to all the wonderful ladies out there doing the world's most difficult job in a difficult time. We love you.

More thoughts coming.

Bilbo