SUSAN -I.P

SUSAN

It was clear to me
that you were the Most Beautiful Mother in all the World
I told my friends at school
you were a Spanish Princess
and they believed me
because of your honeyed olive skin
and your hair like polished mahogany.
But the gods must have known when they made you
what heartache was in store
for instead of bright chestnuts
to match your complexion
they gave you deep grey pools of tears
that looked sad even when you were laughing.

You grafted, oh you worked to feed us
three jobs, and barely enough
to feed and clothe three kids
your leisure hours were spent hiding from migraines
for your sorrow insisted on
manifesting itself physically
would not allow you to forget
for one moment
that all your dreams were crushed
like the fragments of that little porcelain bowl you loved
with a chaffinch painted on it
and which my father ground to dust underfoot.

Too young to understand
the cruel hand that life had dealt you
I avoided your darkened room
and tried to play quietly
so as not to disturb you
for though you never shouted or lost your temper
(you had the composure of a Queen)
I lived in fear of your displeasure
and that icy stare that chilled my bones.

But once in a while
on a sunny afternoon
we would potter together in the garden
which you had somehow managed to transform
from a concrete desert to a veritable Eden
This was a gift of yours, that everything you touched
became beautiful.
You would show me how the snapdragons snapped
crush lemon mint in your fingers
and hold it to my nose for me to marvel at
You taught me to draw,
taught me to see that the world was lovely
despite the fact that for you
life had been nothing
but a series of vicious kicks in the teeth.
Oh for that I am ever grateful.
For that alone you must be
The Most Beautiful Mother in all the World.