Mother’s Day (with recording)

 

Mother’s Day

The dog is my shadow and I fear his loss. My loss.
I cook for him daily, in hope of retaining him.

Each regret is a thread woven around the oak’s branches.
Each day lived is one less to live.

Soon the rabbits will be safe, and the squirrels.
As if they were not. One morning

I’ll greet an empty space and walk alone,
toss the ball into the yard, where it will remain.

It is Mother’s Day.
Why did I not weep at my mother’s grave?

I unravel the threads and place them around the dog.
The wind carries them aloft.

 

“Mother’s Day” was published in The Lake in July 2016, and last appeared here in May 2019.

 

11 thoughts on “Mother’s Day (with recording)

  1. I like the reading … nicely done with the pauses.
    While on the melancholy side, this is a great Mother’s Day piece reminding that mothers cannot be assumed always-available. Regrets for unexpressed later inevitable. This gives license to untangle and release pent-up regrets. (I’m visualizing the helium heart- shaped balloon with streamers danging, tangling beneath it … delivered to the house across the street this morning … we watched, amused, as the recipient wrangled the thing through her front door … thinking I’d’ve let it go, float upward, away … snap a photo from below …)

    Liked by 1 person

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