Oedipus on Mother's Day
Hallmark sells no cards for our situation.
I scan the aisle looking for a bittersweet
spot between those for wife, those for
mother. Wife seems too affectionate,
while son feels kind of reserved. I should
kiss you on the cheek when I've seen you
naked, lots of times? Or sit on your lap?
But I'm a big boy now, as you know,
probably too much so. I did find one
for Dad, actually, an apology to you.
A baby on the front accidentally spills
his pudding. A rainbow word balloon
yells, “Oops!” Inside, a puppy licks up
the drops. The text: “Accidents happen.
I hope you can forgive me.” We'll try
to pretend they're not blood. Let's admit,
though, you're glad I'm back this day.
Once you winced at brunch specials
and mimosas, visited places mothers
wouldn't be: sci-fi conventions, cock
fights, rugby matches. We can go out
together on a date, act as if we have
a child at home, baby sat by shepherds,
never left alone, exposed to elements.
Indifference will never be a problem
for us. The only curse we have is love.
Author Discusses Poems