after “Flower in a Field” by Dario Cvencek
A mother is still a mother
even in an empty house,
even when there’s not a child
hanging on her hip or leg,
she’s still a mother even when
the floors are clean, devoid
of Legos and Monopoly houses.
Even when silence
fills the spaces where once
rang laughter, crying, singing,
even when the cake stays exactly
where she left it in the fridge,
when her car doesn’t leave the drive
for days because no one needs
to be taken to school or to dance.
Even then, she’s a mother,
when the phone doesn’t ring,
when her child can no longer
walk in the room, can’t say hello,
can’t even breathe, even then,
even then when there is no damn way
she can care for her child, that sad
fact does not change the fact
that she’s a mother, just as a tree
in the field is no less tree when the saplings
that came from its seeds are cut down,
just as a happy memory might still
make you happy even if it arrives
amongst tears. She is no less a mother
when the only thing that fills her arms
is tenderness for other mothers with
empty arms, when instead of holding
anyone, she lets herself be held.