Mother's Day

A sequestered love of actions;

in edifying tastebuds on Sundays

with roasts braised, and roasters praised

and crackling smacking crunching ways;

to greyscale threaded oldies passing

the past into the quiet afternoon, punching

past the wall of silence with gunshots banging

from the Wild Wild West to sauntering present;

and frozen meals on wheels steeling

my stomach on my nightly shift of working,

ever-sure my cupboards are never-bare;

this my lifetime – of care ever-present and there,

in this; from childhood to now, each breath,

sought from womb to grave she gave and gives,

through altruistic acts she lives

for others’ sake, deserving nothing but the best

of a son’s love, and in words, paper-born,

I remember and will remember forevermore.