My mother was a grateful woman who seldom asked for gifts
she loved to work in her garden sun-up to sundown
with soul roots buried deep in the big heart of Texas
as she coaxed green miracles from water soaked ground.
When she was young she shined shoes for a quarter
and with her little brother James mowed lawns
she had to quit school early for she was the oldest daughter
In spite of that, she was the wisest person I’ve ever known.
She grew up poor in the depression, told stories of pots of beans
cooking and simmering all day on an old white porcelain stove
her aunt feeding the wretched hungry who had less means
and to this day the smell of beans cooking reminds me of home.
My mother, she taught me everything that I’ll ever know
about growing beautiful plants and the joys of river fishing
understanding sometimes the pressing urge to take it slow
to watch a cork gaily bobbing, and spend the day dreaming.
©2019 Linda Lee Lyberg
Author’s note: With Mother’s Day on Sunday, I find myself missing my mom more than ever.
Poets United: Midweek Motif-Gifts