Mother’s Day
Isn’t for mothers
Wives
Sit in bed
Misty with smiling
While husbands push in their children
With pancakes on a plate.
It isn’t for mothers
Who brace the washing machine
While chicken roasts
And open lunch boxes
Sit on the counter
By a stack of dishes
While making a list
With one quaking hand
Cradling a little blond head
With the other.
Not for single mothers
Who fall into bed
Alone
After working four jobs
And relax to the sound
Of white noise
And weeping.
Mother’s day
Is for wives
Who can afford to
Expect
Any small donation,
Kindness.
Moon Bodies 