"and she is my mother...."

“Nothing could have prepared
your heart to open like this...
Once it began,
you were no longer your own.
Never
have you traveled
farther inward..."
- J. O'Donohue

my mother likes to
type everything in
all
CAPS

she is the queen of
mixed metaphors and
double entendres

she can be infuriating,
endearing,
complex,
subtle, and
silly...all-at-once

she is funny, but
not because she tries to be...
but just because
she is

my mother can
arrange
a toddler-gathered,
fist-weary
bouquet of
weeds and wildflowers
into something
a bride would
love to
carry

and she never
remembers
that I
am not the
last name in the
list of eight
she chose
so carefully
as each of
us were
a
promise
waiting
to
be seen...

my mother loves the color blue...but
only the "right" shades
of blue...

the ones that
remind you of the ocean,
sea glass,
storm clouds over
the mountains in Colorado,
a deep lake,
bottles dug from the ancient dust and
red rocks of a ghost town,
Antero-mined
aquamarines...
a baby's eyes

my mother
is too embarrassed to
sing out loud
in public,
because she never noticed
that her voice
was always our favorite sound...

my mother
likes pickle and peanut butter
sandwiches,
strong English tea,
and anything
made of
mud,
sprinkled with
grass, and
served
on
child-sized plates
by our
"own two hands"

my mother
covers her mouth
when she
smiles,
crosses her arms
across her
chest,
and deflects
compliments with the
stealth of
a
navy seal...

my mother
is peculiarly,
oddly,
strangely,
so
like
me....

except for the
peanut butter and pickles...
and the
CAPS...

"In search
of my mother's garden,
I found my own..."
- Alice Walker


[photos: Lila June Jones 2012 and 2008]