I have had a tradition to call my maternity on each Mother’s Day. Last Mother’s Day I spoke to both grandmothers and my mother on the phone. Both of my grandmothers went to be with the Lord this February. I’ve got one very important phone call to make come Sunday.
Since the dawning of consciousness the timbre of love envelopes me. ‘Tis the voice of comfort, of solace refined; ‘Tis the voice of my maternity.
As the light of the world broke through, the warmth of her hands did cradle me. Hers are hands of nurture, protection sublime, those hands that taught me serenity.
I’m older now, out on my own. Inspiration she still gives to me. Words of comfort, protection and charity, she asks God for me on bended knee.
Happy Mother’s Day, Momma. I only wish poetry could weave such an eloquent design revealing the wonderful tapestry you are to me.
Love always, Keith. (Written May 2, 2003.)