Saturday, May 24, 2014

Prodigal Mom

Prodigal Mom
Mollie Lyon
In the waiting we know the prodigal father,
eyes on the horizon
skirts raised, ready to run
his eyes ever expecting his son.

What of the prodigal mother?
We hear no mention of her.
In the kitchen with a chore,
Never knowing for sure.

Did she stew about decisions made
without her knowledge?
A bitter or praying maid
in that kitchen looking out the ledge?

She, too, waiting, fattening a calf.
With each meal made
praying or despising her better half?
Wishing her son were here in the shade?

Her attitude influenced the elder son;
did she embitter him when they should have had fun?
Did she want to escape like a dove
when she should have embraced love?

What of this mother not known
how did she feel with her son flown?
How do all mothers react?
With tenderness and tact?

                                                                When life is such silt,
full of burden and guilt
when she had to wait
blaming herself or her mate?

Mothers are different
in ways that they parent.
But this woman
What did she do with her man?

Where did she stand
as the son returned?
Which son did she choose?
Which did she refuse?

Or did she embrace both
as that father would
if the elder boy allowed,
only if they could.

We're not told
maybe mom is gone or old.
How are you, Mom?
Are your words life or should they be dumb?
Post a Comment