I hear mothers,
young and old,
rich and not-so-poor,
Believers, atheists, heathen
I hear their staggering steps
zigzagging through
former husbands,
current flings,
the faltering economy.
I hear their symphonies–
son’s first tooth fall,
daughter’s first ballet,
first culinary experiment.
I hear, too, their erratic quartets;
custody battles,
nursing a sick child,
telling the daughter
better lovers
await her yet.
As I hear the ebb and
flow of their rivers–
slushing, gentle, roaring,
I find my mother’s echo
rippling ashore.
Echoing Mothers
