It's a safe bet that no one wants to read forlorn lugubrious* words about Mother's Day. But, it is a bona fide fact that my Mom is dead, and therefore it's my prerogative to write whatever I damn well please to make me feel cheery about this day. Nope, I didn't sit around gnashing my teeth or weeping, but instead did my own Mom thing with Zach, pilfering through Target (of course I paid!) and then later getting drenched in the rain as we made a mad dash for Dairy Queen yummies.

So, aside from my own Momdom, I thought of this poem today, and it's what moves me as the day ends...

The Embrace

You weren't well or really ill yet either;
just a little tired, your handsomeness
tinged by grief or anticipation, which brought
to your face a thoughtful, deepening grace.

I didn't for a moment doubt you were dead.
I knew that to be true still, even in the dream.
You'd been out -- at work maybe? --
having a good day, almost energetic.

We seemed to be moving from some old house
where we'd lived, boxes everywhere, things
in disarray: that was the story of my dream,
but even asleep I was shocked out of narrative

by your face, the physical fact of your face:
inches from mine, smooth-shaven, loving, alert.
Why so difficult, remembering the actual look
of you? Without a photograph, without strain?

So when I saw your unguarded, reliable face,
your unmistakable gaze opening all the warmth
and clarity of you -- warm brown tea -- we held
each other for the time the dream allowed.

Bless you. You came back so I could see you
once more, plainly, so I could rest against you
without thinking this happiness lessened anything,
without thinking you were alive again.

Mark Doty

*a fav word to both myself and my Mom... "mournful, dismal" - its enunciation and meaning combined make it irresistible.