Ruth L. Rivers

My Mother

My mother is not perfect as some mothers may seem
Though my mother is not as dreadful as bad could be
She is flighty in her very worst
and graciously overbearing
at best she never comes first
and gives leeway to the erring
My mother is something of an unusual eccentric kind
Who wouldn’t speak harsh accept when fully in her mind
She cares about the showers
on sun blessed happy days
only losing the small things
when going from work or play
My mother is a god-send to so many complex dichotomies
When caring to brink of loss then losing both her and me
She stands for her something
with bold faced convictions
simply abandoning subtleties
when her only task is attrition
My mother gave me being and secured my growing form
Taking me for the ride on her journeys away from the norm
She placed foods on the table
in all shapes and varieties
giving new context to taste
and what might be good to eat
My mother used her back n’ hands to toil for my sustaining
Keeping herself always on life’s path of continuous training

By Ruth L. Rivers

Submitted: Thursday, August 27, 2009
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