Wilma Josephine McClure LoFrumento

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.

Badminton and the Bats

I used to play badminton
with my mom,
not killer badminton
as I later played
but
badminton with
high arching volleys.

We'd wait,
carry on a conversation,
talk about our day,
have a light snack
always looking up
searching the skies
while the birdie
drifted back from orbit.

Mom would laugh
sounding so full of life
that even the bats
swooping overhead
would join our game.

They'd tuck the birdie
under their tails
dart left right up down
drop it somewhere nearby
while we shrieked
and whooped
at this
three dimensional
extra terrestrial
display of hilarity.

To this day
I watch bats
with love bursting within my heart
for bringing
my mother and I closer
during the twilight
so long ago.

And when people
look at me
and mutter
(under their breath)
that other species
(of course)
don't have fun,
I can only pity them for
never volleying with
my Mom
and the badminton bats.

Dreams

I often dream
of a rickety third-world bus
when I gave my seat
to a young country woman,
joking with her
nudging her to accept
the small gift.

Then,
eclipsing everything,
I played with her smiling baby
a dirty baby
a loved baby
wrapped in a tattered blanket
grinning
under his mother's admiring gaze.

I used to dream huge dreams
to save the world.

I was so very wrong.