Wild woods violets
Woods violets but there on the lawn
behind the depression
of a basement once dug out
where the old house stood, my father born there, inside.
And before air conditioning, my mother after a hot august day
and half a night,labor now in a hospital, brought me home.
Tho I don't remember.
But my father's mother's violets, those I do
because Mother's Day you bring your mother flowers
and my stubby little fingers picked them with care
small child sensing the debt, showing the gratitude
brought them to her, her face in the kitchen window
keeping close watch and wondering, as mothers do
what her boy was up to.
By Phil Specht on May 8, 2011