May 10: Julia Kasdorf, "What I Learned From My Mother," Love Never Dies

What I Learned From My Mother

by:  Julia Kasdorf

I learned from my mother how to love

the living, to have plenty of vases on hand

in case you have to rush to the hospital

with peonies cut from the lawn, black ants

still stuck to the buds. I learned to save jars

large enough to hold fruit salad for a whole

grieving household, to cube home-canned pears

and peaches, to slice through maroon grape skins

and flick out the sexual seeds with a knife point.

I learned to attend viewings even if I didn’t know

the deceased, to press the moist hands

of the living, to look in their eyes and offer

sympathy, as though I understood loss even then.

I learned that whatever we say means nothing,

what anyone will remember is that we came.

I learned to believe I had the power to ease

awful pains materially like an angel.

Like a doctor, I learned to create

from another’s suffering my own usefulness, and once

you know how to do this, you can never refuse.

To every house you enter, you must offer

healing: a chocolate cake you baked yourself,

the blessing of your voice, your chaste touch.

_________________________

Another poem for mothers tonight.

I have a friend who recently lost her mother.  This Sunday will be the first Mother's Day where my friend will not be able to call her mom on the phone, tell her how much she loves her.  It will be a difficult day.

So, tonight, I send my friend all the love I can.  Say a prayer for my friend.  Let her know that love never dies. 

Saint Marty believes that with all his heart.