“A Lesson In Mothering From The Queen” by Tami Boehle-Satterfield


I sought her out
When I was unsure of what it meant to mother.
But much to my chagrin,
She mirrored my nervous and irritable energy.
The enormity of the responsibility
Burdened with self-doubt, confusion.
Queenie, my own axis of reflection.

She looked vigilantly for an open door,
Like a haggard waitress at a truck stop
Watching the time, doing the time, weighing the time,
Impatience multiplied
For the solace of a cigarette
And then she simply figured
To steal the time for a deep drag of a wild and willful life.

From across the room,
She counted the warm elements of the finite set,
As if the sum was impossible to compute,
With increased agitation that might equal madness,
If not for one distraction –
An open door.
The algorithm of sanity.

But there was one miscalculation, an underestimation.
She hadn’t counted on me counting on her motherly love.
Held by it’s kitten scruff,
The extracted cat-cry mews reached her halfway across the lawn,
Divided her attention.
From the line that extended in both directions between the two points
She deviated and circled back.

She never weighed her options.
To her credit, she hastened her steps with a mother’s devotion
As the little mews blazed her ears.
Muttering as she advanced,
I swear she swore a riled “Jesus Christ!” my way,
As she swung by me and through the door
Returning to the kit and caboodle.

August 2013

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