Mother's Day

My mom is great. And I love her a lot and for mother's day it has become somewhat of a tradition, a mom and me tradition, of writing her a poem.

Mom

Maybe, it’s the gray sky of an early dawn

that describes it.

Or the smell of sand and salt tinted with

sunscreen that was forced

onto our bony

shoulders

Maybe

it is the taste of the artificial cherry 

syrup poured down our throats

like sick birds

fed from pipettes,

their meal.

Maybe it is the way you sing the songs

on the radio loud when only we are

in the car

But still,

maybe it is the quiet car ride

where both of us know in our

minds that you were right

But I’m too afraid,

and you’re too humble

to say.