It’s here again
Mother’s Day
that wonderful Sunday
that comes each May
sweet treasures await
a wonderful time
a handprint in plaster
an original rhyme
a ceramic ashtray
although I don’t smoke
breakfast in bed
burnt toast, runny yolk
a card that took 80 minutes to make
with crayons, scissors
a whole roll of tape.
a small flower you planted
yourself just for me
a lopsided sculpture
I think it’s a tree
a handmade cross,
painted bright green,
a note, “IOU a gift
… love, your teen”
as you grow older
the gifts will transcend
store-bought finery
and flowers you’ll send.
and though every gift
I receive gives me pleasure,
it’s those lopsided gifts
from the heart that I treasure.