Happy Mother's Day

You speak in rules

before you speak in love.

Sometimes,

I wonder if it’s enough.

Your words are sharp,

not meant to wound—

just echoes of

an older tune.

You give in silence,

curfews, lists—

in all the ways

you think love is.

And sometimes I wish

you’d let it shine—

that love could drip

like warm red wine.

But I see the tired

in your stance,

the way you fold

each second chance.

The way you try,

despite the sting—

as if your heart

had never learned to sing.

I know the world

did not prepare

a softer mold

for you to wear.

Just steel and storm,

and ways to cope—

no guide but grit,

no map but hope.

You try.

And so do I.

And maybe someday

you'll just be still,

no lessons left

to teach or drill.

We’ll sit in light,

not keep a score—

no harsh correction,

no slammed door.

You'll laugh at things

I say and do,

and I won’t flinch—

I'll laugh there too.

And when we meet,

halfway, someday—

I’ll mean it when I softly say:

Happy Mother’s Day.