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Poet, Artist and co-owner of Lasting Images Photography

Sunday, December 26, 2010

And let me preface this post by saying

This is not about my mother.

I don’t mean to be critical but
That’s how the sentence always began
and I knew
I was about to hear my failure again
I put the dishes away wrong
My new haircut did nothing for my face
It wasn’t right to wear slacks to Mass
You were busy
but you still had more than enough time
to be perfect
My friends’ mothers wore polyester pants
with elastic waists
and sometimes forgot their lipstick
Once I left my shoes in the living room floor
I tried never to repeat that mistake
but even in my shoe rack they were scuffed
I told myself
my daughter would never hear me
catalog her shortcomings
I would praise her complexion 
Making a B in Algebra
would be cause for celebration
Maybe I tried my best
I certainly put enough thought 
into her Christmas presents
Now and then I stop
at her bedroom door
and listen to her laughing on the phone
I’ve raised a happy child
Pretty and popular
She knows what a gem she is
I look forward 
to Mother/Daughter Day every year
Want her to know how proud I am
I am standing at my mirror
making sure my make up is complete
when I hear those words again
Mom, I don’t mean to be critical but

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