Omniscience

I went to Your house today;

It was Mother's Day.

I sat on a pew with my aged mother

and my not-so-aged grandson.

My daughter sat beside me;

Her mind intent on the speaker,

Her eyes intent on her son, not that he noticed.

I'll confess, I didn't hear much that was said,

But I think you would approve of what my spirit felt.

I don't remember the exact words of the prayer,

But I remember a wide-eyed look of innocence

and the feel of a little hand slipping into mine.

It was a day I'll never forget.

You knew it would be, didn't You?

Home by Suppertime

If you're not here by suppertime,

I guess I'll stop and take the time

To write and tell you what I want to say-

Of all the times I'm missing you,

Wondering if you miss me too,

And little things I do from day to day.

Now supper's cooking on the stove

And I don't want it getting cold

Before I see your car pull in that drive.

I washed the dishes, mopped the floor,

Combed my unkempt hair once more,

And thought of things I'd say when you arrived;

Like:

"How are things today with you?

That new dress looks good on you...

Have you always worn your hair that way?"

While all the time it makes me glad

To watch your eyes light up like that;

It's hard to hear a single thing you say.

Just being with you says it all,

And it's okay if you don't call.

Since writing letters takes a lot of time,

I will be the one tonight

To write to say things are all right

If you are still not here by suppertime.

I wish that you had been there then

And seen that mama's great big grin

And, with her apron, wipe tears from her eyes

When from behind the curtain she

Saw kids and dogs and finally me

Walk in that door at home at suppertime.

My Daughter, My Friend

Letters hidden in a trunk

Their oft' read pages worn,

Speak impatiently of life,

Hint of sadness, love forlorn.

They hunger yet for yesteryear's

Carefree times

And thrills-

Prom nights, dates, and whispered dreams.

Treasured moments, treasured still.

In time, they held

A lock of hair, a tooth,

A program from a play.

Later, scented lavender,

Dried petals from a bride's bouquet.

Age, then wisdom, formed a bond

Enriched by letters through the years.

Tearstained pages from a daughter

Stained once more by Mother's tears.

Last Born

When she came home for a visit

and we embraced,

A part of me wanted to hold my last-born

in my arms,

stroke her hair,

and sing lullabyes to her like when she was a child.

And when on into the night, she endlessly chattered-

A part of me withdrew to observe

my grownup daughter in her new habitat-

with new lifestyles, new friends-

So much a part of her, so distant from me.

And when we said goodbye,

My heart cried;

And later on, in solitude,

my eyes formed a duet with my heart,

and the part of me that longed to hold her,

let her go...

Where is she?

Where is the infant

who made parents out of two children,

and gave new meaning to the word love,

who dressed up in mama's skirts and papa's shoes,

who practiced music for obedience sake

and always came home on time?

Where is the teen who scraped the bike

and then the car,

who hated braces but never complained-

at least not about braces-

who went to church, and complained

about double standards and unfairness of life?

There she is—in her wedding gown—trying not to cry

as she straightens Papa's tie

and wipes tears from Mama's eyes.