The Gift
There,
momentarily mute,
lies the fusion of
yin and yang.
His discipline,
my zest.
His raven curls,
my straight blonde mane.
Our ability to look beyond
burned dinners and botched apologies
culminated in this
eight-pound amalgamation
of love.
She who has just left God
gazes up with complacent candor
at we who have waited so fervently,
so impatiently,
so long.
Such a big void
for so tiny a soul to fill!
Our hearts latch on,
lay claim,
like greedy toddlers.
–from Dancing with my Daughter, by Jayne Jaudon Ferrer |
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Passing the Torch
My best memory
is of chilly winter mornings
when my mother draped my school clothes
over the furnace.
Warm from the fire,
warm from the heartflush of knowing
I was indisputably,
irrefutably
loved,
I would slip on my clothes,
wolf down my waffles,
face my day
fed and fortified.
It was a fine, fine feeling,
one I want you to know.
Can it be achieved with a dryer and bagels?
I wonder.
Perhaps I shall make your best memory
one of long walks and leisurely listening.
You can tell me anything and I will
listen and laugh
or listen and cry
or listen and do nothing at all
except love you—
indisputably,
irrefutably,
infinitum.
–from Dancing with my Daughter, by Jayne Jaudon Ferrer |
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Dream Weaver
One dreams of having a daughter
for many reasons—
some simple,
some sweet,
some silly.
I wanted you so I could share what’s good
about our world:
fat puppies and perfect peaches,
music and magnolias,
hummingbirds and harvest moons and hugs.
I wanted you so I could share what’s good
about growing up:
families sharing autumn picnics,
romping in the snow,
feeling safe, feeling proud, and feeling loved.
I wanted you so I could share what’s good
about being a girl:
frilly dresses and French braids,
whispering and secrets,
double dates and Nancy Drew and malls.
Here’s to dreams coming true, my daughter!
(Yours, as well as mine.)
–from Dancing with my Daughter, by Jayne Jaudon Ferrer |
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Midnight Rendezvous
It is with something less than
maternal goodwill that I crawl,
asleep and annoyed,
from my coveted bed
to silence your angry screams
violating the night.
We rock in the chair
that has been ours since
the very beginning,
ensconced in
Great-Grandmother’s afghan and
the VCR’s ghostly green light.
Mute now, but for
periodic, pitiful whimpers,
you cling to me like some
abandoned creature reclaimed.
Clinging back,
I am EveryMother,
an all-knowing, all-bestowing,
all-loving, all-forgiving
paragon of matriarchal perfection.
Feeling your sweet, soundless breaths
tease the tangles of hair
on the back of my neck,
my last trace of irritation
over interrupted sleep
dissipates in a hug, a kiss,
and a smile.
You will never remember
these midnight moments together;
I will never forget.
–from Mother of Sons,
by Jayne Jaudon Ferrer |
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Lesson Review
Have I taught you the right things,
my darlings?
Between laundry and table-setting,
ironing and pants-hemming,
manners and morals and
where to pin the corsage,
did I remember to teach about love?
About listening and hearing
and holding and helping
and always remembering to put down the toilet seat?
While I ferried you to school and soccer,
band and sleepovers,
birthdays and baseball and church,
did I find time to talk about life?
About philosophy and philanthropy
and ethics and art
and never leaving before the credits have fun?
There’s just so much that matters!
You must know about
politics, heretics,
deferment, fulfillment,
pain, civic duty,
civil rights, inner beauty…
Oh, I want to teach you everything, darlings!
But life is so brief; its wonders so vast.
And there’s no textbook for
Teaching Life (or How to Turn Boys into Men).
I’ll just keep telling you all I can think of;
you just keep asking me
what’s on
The Test.
–from Mother of Sons,
by Jayne Jaudon Ferrer |
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Requiem, For My Sons.
If I died tomorrow,
contented I would go,
for in my time on earth,
I’ve had the chance to get to know
your hearts, your minds,
your spirits, and, oh!
what bliss it’s been
to watch the world
through your eyes,
see you learning
to be men.
You’ve shown me courage, laughter,
passion, anguish, pride,
dreams, curiosity, wisdom—
life, personified!
And though I’d long to know
down which path each of you will stray,
I’d take great joy in having gone
along part of the way.
–from Mother of Sons,
by Jayne Jaudon Ferrer |
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The Best Job in the World
This job’s a tough one, Lord,
but the perks are beyond compare.
Who else but a mother
knows the joy of satisfying
a human being’s every need?
Who else but a mother
sees love come alive a hundred ways,
from jelly-smeared kisses and
diminishing sobs
to crayoned valentines
and soggy, shared suckers?”
Thank you so much for this
priceless privilege,
this role so few get to know.
Inadequate as my training,
inept as I might be,
I know I have tenure for life.
Even so, I ask your assistance
in making sure I deserve it.
For a bad mother is the worst nightmare
a child can ever know,
and a good one
a dream come true
to curly up with for life.
–from A New Mother’s Prayers,
by Jayne Jaudon Ferrer |
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Love Song
“Mommy, I missed you!”
What a way to end my day!
Thank you, God, for choosing me
to be the mother of this child.
This child who, as an infant,
rarely cried.
This child who, even at two,
was tolerable.
This child who now hangs
suspended from my neck,
doggie shoes and grandmother-crafted jammies
adding that much more allure to
apple-sticky lips and immovable arms.
“I missed you, too!” I tell him.
Lord, let him know how much!
Let him know how his hugs restore me,
how his jubilant kisses renew me,
how his stories and songs inspire me,
how his daily achievements uplift me.
How blessed I am, Father,
to be replenished every day
through the joy of this little child’s love.
–from A New Mother’s Prayers,
by Jayne Jaudon Ferrer |
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