Mother’s Day

It is a different kind of day
now that she is gone.
Not exactly a celebration.
More a remembrance
of long dinners at the table,
walks,
conversation over coffee early in the morning,
a constant reminder that the peaceful
are also warriors,
of singing over the piano
and a harmony sweet and soft.
of her last words as you got in the car
to go home:
“I think you are doing the right thing.”
of books read and books unread,
of choices, and acceptance and sadness and joy.

A remembrance
of what you lost,
and more importantly,
more memorably,
what you had.