Prodigal Mom

Prodigal Mom

by

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?