Sunday Mornings

10/29/13

 

 

Every Sunday morning, my mom wakes me up at three;

She knows how my alarm clock always disappoints me.

 

She irons my clothes and shines my shoes with care;

For a year and a half I have been wearing the same pair.

 

The smell of eggs and bacon leaks through the door;

Perfect breakfast just for me--what else to ask for?

 

She boils water and pours some into my morning bath;

She knows just how much I hate cold's aftermath.

 

I drift through my patterns like a predictable rhyme;

Her stares are comforting and daunting at the same time.

 

Before I leave the house, she hugs and kisses me;

Her scent is a mixture of cigarette and coffee.

 

Then she goes to bed like any tired woman would,

Sleeping with a smile for the gift of motherhood.

 

--------------------------

 

Three in the morning, I am awakened by a tap.

What I see next greeted me like a slap.

 

Neatly laid out on the desk is my Sunday dress.

Under the chair are shoes gleaming to impress.

 

Aroma of eggs and bacon fills the atmosphere.

I can hear the kettle whistling somewhere near.

 

I catch the feeling there's someone I cannot see.

Then the smell of cigarette and coffee has embraced me.

 

Sunday morning duties compelling her to stay.

My beloved mother died just yesterday...

 

Author's Note

Don't tell my mother I "killed" her in this poem. She might resign from her maternal tasks on Sunday mornings. :)

Reviews

[Frieda P]

As a mother myself, I had to say OUCH after reading your author's note, nice going Blue Darling, we're going to have to take that darling part away....that aside, this was truly awe inspiring, you've outdone yourself here!

[Dr. Wood ?]

your author's note sits well with the shocked look on your avatar...Wonderful write, as usual from you..parallel tales...clever, and an idea for me too

[Rita L. Sev]

Wow - this is impressive work, Blue! Both stories expertly crafted, wonderful job writing these parallels!

[Simon Welsh]

Damn that's powerful. I wondered about the last line till I saw the authors note. Nice.

[Renée]

lol @ your author's note .. This is a lovely poem... it shows how much you love her and not only that appreciate all the work she does for you ... I bet if you shared this with her... she would cry and give you a hug that you care so much ( :

[Calibaster]

That is sooo sad! I would feel that way if my mom died!! Great job though, as usual! ;)

[Alexis]

love it, just so overtaking to the mind.. great poem

[dw817]

⊰ℛℛ⊱
Glad to know she really didn't die. I read or watch stuff and I really get into it believing every scene and word. Chris says I'm gullible. I say I'm open-minded. Yah well.

In any case, this was very well rhymed and timed for that matter. A distinct beat and meter definitely adding to the charm of this. And - I noticed you have the same thing a lot of people do. I was talking with someone years ago and they said after their Grandmama died, they could still occasionally hear the creak-creak of her rocking chair.

Not scary to them, just comforting, to let them know - wherever she was, she was still there for them. I still dream about my Dad even tho he passed away 3-years ago.

Here is hoping your Mother is there for you for many more good and wonderful years, Blue. :)

[Latifa]

i love it very beautiful...

[Diana]

This is beautiful. The intricacy and detail really brought this piece to life...

Hah hah. No one shall tell your mother...at least I hope not.