Laura Rodley, a Pushcart Prize winner, has been nominated for the prize seven times and has also received five Best of the Net nominations. Her recent works include Turn Left at Normal (published by Big Table Publishing Company), Counter Point (published by Prolific Press), and Ribbons and Moths: Poems for Children (published by Kelsay Books). With a talent for capturing the essence of life, Rodley’s writing resonates with readers of all ages. Whether exploring the natural world or delving into human emotions, her words evoke a sense of wonder and connection. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PClY8G6HQwk

Mother’s Day during Super Flower Moon

By Laura Rodley

Who I hold, just seen in pictures,
her hair self-cut, bangs uneven,
Pall Mall in right hand, drink
in another, black crew neck sweater,
white sparkling teeth, glass bottles
for the baby lined on the kitchen counter,
who I hold, my mother that I do not
remember except for pictures, except
for the ride I took on the hood of her car,
as she entered our long slow driveway,
engine warm, except for glimpses in
hallways of long ago houses I do remember,
who I hold, loved without remembering
the holding, the songs, the crooning,
born, without remembering the snow,
the day, the pain of birth, the pride,
the unlined faces smiling down,
grandparents on each side, delighted,
who I hold, her love of standing pines,
her love of the oldest sycamore trees in Delaware,
her love of the ocean, Rehoboth, its sand,
reading, her love of knowledge, my brother,
my sisters, my father, her love of Pinocchio,
our collie, her being beloved: the only daughter.
Who I hold on this day forth, as on all the others,
give space for her to breathe, lay down
her burden of sorrow, who I hold,
this eternity of her leaving by choice when living
held no choice, no answers, how I hold
onto her hand, the one reaching out between,
who I hold in the space between, who I hold
so she ascends into heaven, out of limbo,
many years now, who I hold, arms around
the joy of her, her face I cannot remember
but in pictures, the joy of her, and us together, alive,
the tightness of our bodies’ bond reinstated,
who I hold, in a time past grief and mourning,
who I hold, as daughters do, the outlines of her hips,
who I hold, as children do, onto her hand, hoping,
who I hold, giving back what I was given: my life.