Last year on Mother’s Day, we gathered for my father’s funeral, all together, happy to have each other to hold. I am a mother who is blessed to have two living mothers, my own and my mother-in-law, who said years ago when someone called me her daughter, “I’ll claim her.”
A long line of belonging
begins with mothers
to me
to my three daughters
to their children.
We are miracles
dancing beside each other.
My brother texted me a video this week of my mother with her assisted living friends in a circle singing “Amazing Grace.” I responded, “When I am old, I want to sing hymns.”
My mother-in-law (affectionately called “Minga”) recites the 23rd Psalm in French every night before she sleeps.
Every night, my daughter reads Madeline to her daughter, “In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines, lived twelve little girls in two straight lines.”
There is a song inside of me that I wrote after Joni Mitchell for my granddaughter June. She doesn’t know it yet, but I hope she will one day.
Little June
after Joni Mitchell’s “Little Green”
Born with the moon in solstice.
Choose her a name she will want to say.
Call her June so December cannot freeze her.
Call her June for the rosy warmth of her skin.
Little June, be a strong butterfly.Just a little June
Margaret Simon
like the brightness of a summer’s day.
There’ll be dandelions to pick for Mom tomorrow.
Just a little June
like when sprinklers make the water spray.
There’ll be bicycles and birthday bows
And cousins you will follow.
Reflections on the Teche 