My Mother

A pocketful of kindness
With no will to do wrong
Innocent of anything
Blamed with everything
Her will broken over 25 years
To submission

Is she a fighter?
No.
No harm against her was ever
Mother's worry
Of chocolate deceit and
Forced sugar-coated lying
She listened, unhappy with
Her lot in life and grief
Never rising from the double bed
All comfy with white comforters and
Baby-blue sheets
Never outgoing
Never leaving home for fear of displeasure
From him
Sticking to the shadows
Because of "uselessness"
According to impossible
Standards

Yet the kindness still calls
The love still reigns
And she hugs her children
Brushing their cotton-down hair
Telling the world that Gold and Jewels
Are not worthy
Of her sons and daughter
Nor will they satisfy the need
For love

Angels waltzing in a yellow painted room
With sunshine dancing and
Wildflowers blooming on a worn
Bed-stand
She declares with soft eyes and
A gentle touch-
The embodiment of what we need
And don't appreciate-
Content
Doing it all again, the pain and blame
If she could choose

What bizarre wisdom she holds
The world never tells for
In its ignorance she is
Ignored
But she will stay
And grace the world with her
Love,
With which she spoils her
Children in favor,
Understanding nods, and
Laughs in the living room with green
Carpet, or the creaky stairs where
They play

Who is this woman?
She sits in her huge chair
And pink flowered nightgown
On a sunny day with rainbow
Spots streaming
Siamese cats crawling and
Little dog barking at watermelons

She blesses the world
And waits for someone else
To speak quietly in mischief
Telling her to never eat chocolate
Again