"Conversation with My Mother's Picture"--A Poem for Mother's Day

by Linda Rodriguez

As we approach Mother's Day, this time of year can be difficult for those of us who have lost our mothers. All the many reminders of things to buy for Mom and special places to take her on her special day can be bittersweet, if not downright painful.

Even if the loss is years in the past, the constant stress on the joys of celebrating mothers who are still alive and available to their children can bring the old pang of grief back in all its intensity. So this poem is for all of us whose mothers are gone and paining us once again with their loss, just so we can know that others out there are suffering the same suddenly renewed grief and that we are not alone.

CONVERSATION WITH MY MOTHER’S PICTURE

You and Dad were entirely happy here—

you in purple miniskirt, white vest and tights

(you always wore what was already too young

for me), Dad in purple striped pants,

a Kansas State newsboy’s cap

made for a bigger man’s head.

You both held Wildcat flags and megaphones

to cheer the football team who,

like the rest of the college, despised you

middle-aged townies, arranging for their penicillin

and pregnancy tests and selling them

cameras and stereos at deep discount.

But you were happy

in this picture, before they found

oat-cells in your lungs.

After the verdict, he took you to Disneyland,

this man who married you and your five children

when I was fifteen. He took you cross-country

to visit your family, unseen

since your messy divorce.

He took you to St. Louis

and Six Flags Over Texas and to Topeka

for radiation treatments.

I don’t think he ever believed

you could die. Now he’s going

the same way. And none of us

live in that Wildcat town with the man

who earned his “Dad” the hard way

from suspicious kids and nursed

your last days. For me, this new dying

brings back yours, leaving me only this image

of you both cheering for lucky winners.

Published in Heart’s Migration (Tia Chucha Press, 2009)