She Gave Her Mother Flowers

She gave her mother flowers
No special reason why
She brought her yellow roses
It made her mother cry

For moms love children every day
But sometimes feel the lack
That comes from loving all ways in
But getting little back

So as her girl presented them
Her eyes began to pull
The tears that came instead of words
Having a heart
That full

lying awake

she lies awake and wonders where it went
the glow that once surrounded who she was
for all the hidden talents she’s misspent
for random choices, lacking a “because”

in stillness now, she thinks of one mistake
her mother’s eyes with tears were dabbed and flecked
for all that woman’s faults, for goodness sake
she didn’t merit wanton disrespect

but now, her mother gone beyond her reach
the tears beset her eyes, and she feels shame
the lessons only loneliness can teach
when there is no one else that’s left to blame

but she’s no worse than most: it’s how she’s built
to lie awake awash in waves of guilt

A Picture

… of her mother, long ago.

A picture of her mother long ago,
This lovely woman, long before the cares
Of life had ground her hopeful outlook so,
And aged her sagging spirit unawares

The beauty that her daughter could recall,
A memory of an inner sort of calm,
Reflected in this picture on the wall,
Ethereal: a poem, or a psalm —

How could it be that life would treat her so?
Why are our precious things ground down to dust?
Must innocence be ever brought down low,
And lose itself in doing what it must?

But yet: it makes her love her mother more —
For all she loved, and gave up, in the war