Kari Gunter-Seymour: Conflagration
I hoped returning
would spark memories, fill her with light,
the way the heat of day warms the bones.
Lisa Zimmerman: That Blue
When the poet said blue city of bees
I was reminded of the blue cotton robe
my husband gave me, a shade my mother loved
Haya El-Refai: Laya’s first Eid
When war comes, it steals everything: souls, memories, homes, happiness, love and safety. Instead, it brings fear, blood, death, darkness and terror.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Parentage
I’m from the ocean’s melancholy, dragging
its anchors back & forth, never quiet, never
still, waves so restless they can’t mirror the moon.
Martha Silano: Poem that Begins at the Core
A mother who lived to peel apples,
bake the most exquisite pies. Suffuse the air
with delicious love. A father gah-gah for fossils,
mummies, cow manure.
Meg Pokrass: Moments with Crochet Hooks
Back then she and her mother waited for the phone to ring, for money to plump itself up and walk through their door. Moments passed with yarn and crochet hooks.
Linda Parsons: Checkers with my Granddaughter
She’s not out for blood but, like her father,
a natural strategist and soon has me
in her grasp.
Hayden Saunier: A Cartography of Home
My mother was a place. She was the where
from which I rose.
Carolyn Miller: Three Poems
And in the evening, after the sun had set
and the birds were alighting in the trees, my mother,
in her housedress and apron and cheap leather shoes
and my father’s dress socks, went out to water the flowers…
Judith Alexander Brice: My Papa’s Music
We weren’t a talking family
especially when it came
to discussing why I locked myself
in the bathroom upstairs
Valerie Bacharach: Gratitude Journal
I was sure that I had failed my mother, unable to keep her in her home, as I had once promised.
Rosaly DeMaios Roffman: Writing Prompt #2 | An Imaginary Phone Call
Make an imaginary phone call to some person or thing to tell them something you never told them.
Edna St. Vincent Millay: The courage that my mother had
The courage that my mother had
Went with her, and is with her still:
Rock from New England quarried;
Now granite in a granite hill.
