G-Lines
  • Home
  • LINES— A Novel
  • Poetry
  • Essays & Stories
  • Updates/Thoughts
  • Newsletter

Mom

1/29/2020

1 Comment

 
Picture



Mom
She was in the hospital at this time. Her petite stature caused the doctors to say “no more.” But she persevered. Made it through with St. Gerard and the Blessed Mother at her side. Her bella madre’s spirit calming her mind. I’d come forth into this world at 1:29 a.m.​

My birth day is more about my mother than it is about me. Wherever she goes, that’s where home is, because I learned a long while ago that Mom meant “home” from the start. Her arms could hug away my sickness; her hands could brush away life’s tangles; her countless novenas could keep me away from harm; and her sweet humming could sing away the blues. My heart beat in rhythm with hers long before it beat to its own tune. And when my own song was being written, a new verse for each new year, the refrain always remained the same, with my heart and home belonging to the woman I’m blessed to call Mom.

1 Comment
Phil
1/30/2020 05:39:09 am

That's so cool. I love it!

Reply

Your comment will be posted after it is approved.


Leave a Reply.

    Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance.  
    - Carl Sandburg



    Archives

    September 2021
    January 2020
    December 2019
    July 2018
    July 2016
    February 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015

    RSS Feed

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.
  • Home
  • LINES— A Novel
  • Poetry
  • Essays & Stories
  • Updates/Thoughts
  • Newsletter