The Mother

 

 

 

It was the sweetest smile,

 

healing and holy,

 

straight from the heart of

 

a mother crouched upon a sidewalk

 

gazing into her daughter's eyes,

 

nose to nose and

 

forehead to forehead,

 

consoling her toddler

 

with, "It's OK baby, let mommy wipe your tears ---

 

and don't you be such a sourpuss anymore",

 

in a language I didn't understand

 

but for the kindness of her face

 

so unlike that frown in the other woman's voice

 

the one on the phone

 

with her own mother

 

talking too loud for a bus-stop.

 

"They don't think she's being cared for properly."

 

"New Jersey?  She can't go to New Jersey!"

 

"Why do you say things like that?"

 

"Why don't you think before you speak

 

about my daughter?"

 

Her daughter who I could only imagine somewhere

 

far away from the warmth of her mother's love.

 

 

 

At that moment I wondered if all these sleepy-eyed Baltimore mornings

 

would destroy

 

or restore

 

my faith in God

 

because we all laugh and cry

 

cajole and control the same,

 

human beings being human,

 

and is that enough

 

or do I need

 

because I do need

 

(oh how I need)

 

a Buddha or a Sophia or a Jesus or

 

his healing mother,

 

the mother of God,

 

to hold my face

 

in her hands

 

and assure me that everything

 

"will be OK

 

and don't you be such a sourpuss anymore"

 

--- as if such were possible

 

 while basking

 

in the radiance of her holy smile.

 

 

--- Darrell Arnold