My mother’s years
Fall around her like a velvet cloak
Cover her with folds of silken thread
Of gold, deep blue, of burgundy
Like the colors of cloth in a painting
By Rubens or Rembrandt
But it has a lining of woven straw
This cloak of velvet
That can scratch and tear the skin
Straw on one side, velvet on the other
The fabric of a life
The way it is, my mother says
And she gave me straight hair
And thin ankles
And she gave me love
She gave me the markets of Guadalajara
And Oaxaca
And she gave me the truth
Of her own self
One July we are very young
We eat lobster bisque together
And watch the seagulls live their lives
On the pier in Monterey
As the sun is going down
Back at the restaurant in the Monterey Hotel
The waiters are on strike
All the others from the tour bus
Cross the picket line
But, my mother says, not us
Now the hawks glide in the wind
Over the roof of my house
This is where my mother has never been
And I tell her how they rise up
And soar
How they dip with their wings outstretched
And sway into the currents of air
And I tell her that her years
Fall around her like a velvet cloak
And she is beautiful
Beautiful. Happy Mother’s Day to mom #2!!
Hi Rob! Dina here. Mom may not read this, but I know she would love your feedback and a hello. Her new email address is: divineorderyes@gmail.com … xo