The Unflappable Mother

Mother's Day brings a swirl of emotions, particularly when children have grown, gone off to live their lives, "free at last." 

I wrote this poem, sitting under a spiritual shrub you might say, my lament for the kind of mother I wish I had been.

The Unflappable Mother

I wish

I had been the unflappable mother

The mother whose cake fell and bread didn’t rise

And neither did her spirits fall nor temperature soar

The mother who overcooked the turkey

and under-baked the pie

The mother who didn’t launch: Was it you?

Going into orbit like the shuttle

Waiting to land when the storm passed

A landing who-knows-where?

While onlookers held their breath

I wish

Fingerprints on the wall or finger-licks on a cake

Made me smile

Made me feel cozy in my fragile cocoon

A maker-of-home

A safe place

Breathing space

Growth as natural as sleep

With dreams pleasant

Preceding the dawn

I wish

My tirades had vented

Like stale air sucked out into a vacuum

Atmosphere behind

Clean like mountain air

Tingly, cool, scented

Where breathing deeper

Unconsciously renews spirits

A grain of salt

Moves a mountain of regret

Better than the aftermath of tears

I wish

I had been the unflappable mother

Instead of perfecting the imperfect

Accentuating the flaws

Noting the negligible

Pleasing the indifferent

Punishing myself 

Mote and beam balancing

The world tilted just enough

To affect the climate

copyright, Carol Frugé