—for my children I see her doing something simple, paying bills, or leafing through a magazine or book, and wish that I could say, and she could hear, that now I start to understand her love for all of us, the fullness of it. It burns there in the past, beyond my reach, a modest lamp.
|2005||Translation for Mamá||Richard Blanco|
|2014||Taproot and Cradle||Khaled Mattawa|
|2014||Another Poem for Mothers||Erin Belieu|
|2011||Mother's Day||David Young|
|2006||Mother||Herman de Coninck|
|1991||won't you celebrate with me||Lucille Clifton|
|1966||Morning Song||Sylvia Plath|