Mother First

I am adding this poem to the many that describe the often underappreciated labors of mothers. The job requirements seem to have changed precious little over the years, despite all our advances in equal rights. It is very difficult to shift off the biological imperatives of our species and of our sex. The urge to care for and protect is very strong. It does not necessarily leave us when the children leave.

Anyway, I’m sure you will agree, that there is a kind of heroism lurking in those, who condescend to do these mundane tasks. I was honored to be among them. Thanks for coming by to read.

Waking at a whimper.

Nursing in the night.

Like my mother’s mother’s mother

Did, by candlelight.

Picking up the messes.

Dressing girls and boys.

Combing tangled tresses.

Calming boisterous noise.

Feeding hungry legions.

Cleaning, what’s been thrown.

Sweeping, sweeping, always sweeping.

Never quite alone.

Hauling toys to donate,

Favorites, now rejected.

Praying fiercely in the storm

That they may stay protected.

Endless, endless laundry.

Never sitting down.

Fears of losing one, or two,

On travels into town.

Watching, while they lengthen,

And from their shackles burst.

Their needs exceed my remit, but

I’m always Mother, first.

Copyright 2021 Andrea LeDew

For another take on womanhood, read Maid, Mother, Crone.

For a tribute to my own mother, read The Voyage.