A Mother's Day Poem

Today, I thought I'd repost a poem from my third book, Damnatio Memoriae (literally, "Damned Memory").  Be well!

Mother’s Day

Now that my mother is dead, I’m free

the second Sunday of my every May

to go fishing, to not call home,

to run around the yard with scissors.

I can shy away from Hallmark stores

and not feel guilty for going out

with unwashed ears. If I like, later,

I’ll splurge on wine and a nice dinner—

alone, of course, since all my friends

are off with their smiling makers,

presenting boxed gratitude in a house

whose door they close behind them.