Mom's Apron Poem by Loyd C Taylor Sr

As I looked through the old photo album,
my eyes fixed upon
a picture of Mom in her blue Sunday dress
wearing a soiled, yellow apron.

I smiled as, in my mind, I returned.
It seemed like just yesterday,
For I had left on it my small handprints—
From playing in Carolina red clay.

Mom had called us into dinner;
I could smell Sunday chicken fried.
I ran in and threw my arms 'round her
As my clay-red hands, she spied.

She pinched my cheeks and chuckled,
Sent me in to wash up and sit down.
Then sister Mary Ruth snapped Mom's picture.
We kids giggled; Dad just made a frown.

Mom always wore an apron;
Yellow was her favorite color.
I'd sneak up and quickly untie it;
Hear her shout, "Scat, you little stinker! "

Her apron was Mom's very favorite
thing of all that she wore:
Like a mother's badge of honor,
Displayed as fancy decor.

She'd wear it to the hen house,
Shape it as a round bowl to hold
Fresh eggs she had gathered,
Or to shield baby chicks from the cold.

She would use it like a basket
For tomatoes, or even fresh corn.
I recall the day it cradled
A dozen kittens, newly born.

She'd pull it up from the bottom,
Her dishpan hands to dry;
To fan herself in hot weather;
Or to wave it in, saying goodbye.

Mom's apron could hide a shy child
Or wipe dirt from a little boy's ear;
And the hankie she kept in its pocket?
That's a memory I still hold dear.

Her sweaty brow would get patted
As she cooked over our old wood stove;
And it served as potholder for cornbread
From the oven she would remove.

She'd use it to carry ripe apples
That had fallen to the ground;
Or to collect crumbs from the table,
Toss'em to the birds waitin' around.

Mom's apron had multiple uses,
From a tote bag to shooing flies;
But she also used it, tenderly,
To wipe many teary eyes.

I suppose the apron was invented
To protect a mom's pretty clothes,
And especially with my mom in mind:
How she loved it... only Heaven knows.

I reckon not too many ladies
Would care a whit for it, these days,
But Mom proved its limitless value
As she used it in so many ways.

Today as I look through my photos,
There's one I still gaze upon:
It's of Mom in her blue Sunday dress,
wearing a soiled yellow apron.