Mother's Day 2000


I am sending you a poem
about daughters, and Ireland --
a mother looking across years
of loss and birth.

I see you green like the hills
of Ireland and the river
in Chicago in March.

I wish you could see me
green, in college, blooming
between the snowfalls.

I am not yet half the who
and when you've been.
I am seeing myself in the green

leaf stencils with a book
my long legs folded under
your college sweater.

In spring we are born again
from under the shadows
of our inherited darkness.

My snowheart melts, revealing hidden
grass and petals but broken
glass and old forgotten bottles
long past lips, too.

I am sending you this poem
to tell you I am green
like the hills 
of Iowa and the lakes
in summer Madison.

I want you to know that I 
have looked across loss
of my own and that I sleep

under the quilt from your heart 
and wake under 
the memory of life 
entwined with your hands
on my soft skin. 

27 April 2000

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