The Feminine (A Tribute)

You take care of the small things.

Like cultivating moments
spent idling outside the mall,
sewing on pointe shoe ribbons,
getting pedicures
and traversing rush hour traffic
to baseball practices and piano lessons.

I was brought up right -
my tiny hands (like yours)
picked up your brushes
and played at being a woman,
hunched over the mysteries of your drawers,
and the magical future that I would inherit
in years of opalescent eyes,
lengthened lashes
and perfumes too big for my age.

Yes, your care was truly deliberate and almighty,
the trunk and roots of our leafy family.

Our Mary. Our stability.

We are always growing and changing,
sometimes fighting to break away from your tether.
(And I know I will never completely understand how that tears and rips.)
Yet all the while your spirit remains vast and comforting -
the quintessential womb of womanness.

My protector and lifeblood.
My mother.