My Mother

The Word Conjured with the Word “Mother”

Most are trite, so for me and mine, let’s go with “Martyrdom.”
“Not very kind” of ME would assume most of YOU,
But YOU haven’t been in my shoes.
Mine’s part Martha Stewart, part Sweet Confection,
A complete work of art and divine perfection.
“How could I say what I said?”
Well, upon deeper reflection,
It’s more complicated than it appears on the surface.
She’s at her apogee when serving a Purpose,
Even more intensely when said Purpose is public,
Like preaching to faraway Republics.

Privately, she loves differently,
And though her love for me is
Both committed and motherly,
I’ve always felt she reserved her best
For each husband and the next
(We’re on number four, you see).
Sometimes it makes me so perplexed
That she doesn’t fight for me
Like her blood-born family.
I know I’m wrong, her love is strong;
For once I’d merely love to see
Her stepping up to bat for me.

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