When...
your mother turns her head as animals of all types and sizes are ferreted
through the kitchen and up the stairs to sanctuary,
your mother works every day in her beauty shop to feed and clothe you instead of
living easy and watching the soaps,
your mother loves her eldest--or possibly her youngest--the most, but valiantly
tries to hide it from the rest,
your mother smiles as gallons of water, four angel fish, and seventeen snails
pour onto the kitchen floor,
your mother tells you just wait 'till your father comes home, but then doesn't
tell him anyway,
your mother supports you through all the stupid decisions you make,
your mother tries, through the difficult years, to keep the peace between you
and your father,
your mother pretends to enjoy family camping trips and all their work
of caring for six children in various stages of development,
your mother cooks meatballs for your elderly canines,
your mother manages somehow to survive the much-too-early death of her
youngest son, her courage lighting the way for you to do the same,
your mother schedules washing and ironing, as well as your Saturday night baths,
so she can gaze down upon you without frowning on Sunday morning,
your mother accepts numerous temporary companions into the family, almost
without question,
your mother joyously welcomes you, unexpected, at all hours of the night,
your mother doesn't believe the police when they bring you home in a squad car,
then
you can talk to me about mothers.
living...loving...writing
