Mom

Post WW2,
She is an artist
A painter of mostly
Oils later on collage a
Passion she could express
On canvas while being a
Mom was a harder job
She delegated out to
The older kids the
Care of the little
Ones along
With the
House
Chores an
Arrangement
We grew up seeing
As our training for life.
Her sense of humor
Deflected our teen
Angst until time
And distance
Did us part.
Little ones
She did
Show
Attention
And affection
Yet not too much
Admiration and never
Adoration as she was an
Artist foremost once she
Passed the age of 28
When WW2 opened
Her eyes to more
Than kids and
Husband to
The world.
Her art
Grew
As her
Horizon
Widened
But we knew
We were along
For the ride and
Not the reason
For the trip.
Like little
Salty
Barnacles
We attached
Ourselves to her
Understanding her
Warmth was measured.
I still smile when I think
Of her wit and humor
Like when she read
Us the walrus and
Carpenter poem
About the little
Oysters who
Were tired
After being
Marched
Rapidly
Down the
Beach without
Complaint as the
Walrus and carpenter
Had eaten every one.
I mused on this as
I ate my peanut
Butter and jelly
Sandwich at
The picnic
Table on
Our
Back porch
Noting my Mom
Smile at us over the
Top of her poems book.