from omaha to phoenix

I've Lost So Many Mothers

It started out at K-Mart,
maybe it was a moment

I was in the cart,
and she was off...

Maybe to pick up
some Polaroids...

then we took one
of me in the cart,

next in a line
waiting for fingerprints
to make sure I wouldn't be kidnapped

I remember a brush against
Stephanie's stubbled calf,
and then she was gone.

A blue fragrance
named Heaven
to remind me of her
I wondered if she named
me Heather to prepare me.

Next was her mother,
Annie, a death I could not
accept until I called
every bingo parlor
to confirm

She was not there,
7th grade.
I broke out
in shingles,
my nerves'
first indication
they would respond
big now
when I lost love.
Wake up, Heather.
Dad slathered on the calamine.

Next was Carolee, the biggest,
the mother of all the adopted ones,
the funeral where I couldn't speak.
She wasn't just my housekeeper,
babysitter, mom's best friend, story-teller,
she was the biggest courage I've known.

Next there was Nancy's mom,
a bigger hole in our hearts to love
each other

And now Marilyn,
the Mother I could not call mom
as much as half, or part of me,
would have wanted
It was always your mom
your joy
but the woman whose spirit
I admire
whose face now I see brightest
as I make more room for love.

John's mom, Mary,
a spirit I felt I could
touch in the lost lady-like friend
the gentle, sweet woman
who kept order, who knew
how to be part of a group
to raise a family I loved.

And Ginny
the brave, sprightly spirit
who took on Cindy
and a world of cancer
that she spun right out of
before she looks down again
with love


My response:
to see each mother now,
with more love

Kathy Kelly,
who showed James
how to skin a rabbit
when he was doing it wrong.

Becky Berg,
who tried to love me,
by giving me a Bible.

Thank you to every mother

to lost chances
and found ones

You've made a world
of good.

And even when they're gone,
they're still there,
and that part of you that connects...
it holds them
and you connect on..



MARILYN
Marilyn was a
woman's woman
the woman who
knew the crafts
the gentleness
who knew how
to show the coat closet
in the right way

I knew when Ann read
Ted Kooser's poem
"Mother"
that the wonder-view
of the world
I hungrily stole
from Ann
descended from
Marilyn

I knew when I saw
the pictures of her youth
that some of the class
I've felt
in my spirit
was mirrored
in Marilyn.

Her piano-playing, its own
movie, a woman who can
take on the world
in notes of music,
notes of care,
notes of as ever.

I quietly regarded her,
wondering about my mother's rival
who was no rival

if competition
surrendering your worth
to someone's else standards
were worth mentioning

If each woman
is the same
she is the same
in that she lives
her own life
as best she can
open her heart
down the doors she knows
the doors she finds
and in each year she
is blessed with
in each smile
and ounce of spirit
she earns my regard
but maybe none today
as much as her.



WHAT I REMEMBER
I remember moments with Marilyn
I remember when I discovered
I could chart a year of joy
by listing every family members'
birthday
and Marilyn met me
at her kitchen table
with a knowing spark
ready to tell me
every one.

I remember the first time I saw
a true girl's bedroom
in Ann's
that Marilyn created
marveling I woke in that room
the day of her funeral
with the care she took
the lace of the curtains
now the lace of the beauty
of Marilyn's life

I remember the last time I saw
Marilyn
both of us slightly startled
and amazed by the grace and vigor
of Maya's pet bird


HE CARRIED FORTH
Sex appeal
is built
from a family
yet unfulfilled