Poem: Mother’s Day

On Mother’s Day,
my kids gave me petunias
to plant,
purple and white striped,
and cards they drew:
a mushroom dragon,
an oriole,
a raccoon
the rocks where I like to sit.
The day is clear and sunny
and the wild columbine
is in bloom,
but we decided to clean the oven
and then the closet,
where I found orange and purple
plastic jars of bubbles,
I hesitated with them
over the trash can
and instead carried them outside,
where I began to spin
in quick circles
bubbles streaming out
around me.
The sixteen and eighteen
year olds
joined me then,
blowing bubbles
into the gloved hands
of their younger siblings
who delighted at the power
to catch
these ephemeral,
shimmering globes.
I know there are people
with lives at risk
and there is so much
we cannot fix.
I know there is so much sorrow
that sometimes it threatens
to drown out everything else.
I know rights are at stake
and adult life feels
weighed down
by worries
and the stock market
and the taxes
and money that seems to drain
away into a bottomless pit
of needs and
so much to care about
that the well runs dry.
For now, though,
I spin
under a blue sky
in a rainbow cone of bubbles
relishing the sunshine
on my shoulders
and the sound of my
children‘s laughter
in my ears.


  • Creative Spirit Circle newsletter with some resources for May Magic as well as some older Mother’s Day freebies is here.

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