Happy Complicated Mother's Day.

When Was the Last Time?

Hello dear friends and curious readers,

This morning I received a text from a friend wishing me a happy, complicated, Mother’s Day. From one mother’s heart to another, a friend who understands the layers of joy and grief that can pile on top of days like these.

In this season especially, I am keenly aware of the mixed bag that is life. Brutal and raw and real and sad and wonderful things can be happening within the span of a breath's time. Especially if you are, or have ever wanted to be, a mother in any capacity. It is never all good or all bad. Never.

The simple and honest text stirred thoughts of a poem I wrote a few years ago, not for Mother’s Day, but one that stemmed from thoughts of a complicated relationship with my own Mother. I could all at once, feel the sting of childhood wounds and those I know she carries from her own childhood, and those I’ve passed to my own children—the many layers of love and abandonment and disappointments and simple joys.

And so, on this day that may find you feeling your own complicated feelings, and to all who have ever loved anyone with a mother's heart, and to my own mom:
You make the world, in all of its glorious mix, a better place to be.

With love and gratitude,
Crystal Marie

The Birds Still Remember; 8” x 8” Encaustic Mixed Media; by Crystal Marie

When Was the Last Time?

When was the last time you changed these sheets?
Hahahaha haha haha ha
haha ha!
Shhhh . . .

When was the last time you sat and listened
to the wind rustling the leaves
of the tree outside
your window?

Or the rioting of birds singing their
domination to the squirrels
weaving themselves in and out
of its branches?

When was the last time you took delight
in a three year old’s lively chatter
beginning to make sense of
abstract concepts like
electricity
when the power is knocked out
by the storm?

When was the last time you held the hand
of your aging mother?
or leaned into her soft body
for comfort
the same body through which you moved
from womb, to arms,
to heart,
where she carries you still
and tries to tell you when she utters words like
”you never call”

When was the last time you did these dishes or
swept this floor, or organized the
closets—
really?
doesn’t seem like we’re asking ourselves
the right
questions at all.

Mom, Me, and Granddaughter Violet, 2018 - Oh, hi mom! I love you.

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