Sunday Mornings

A Poem by Azure Montessa (Blue)

10/29/13

Every Sunday morning, my mom wakes me up at three;

She knows how my alarm clock always disappoints me.

She irons my clothes and shines my shoes with care;

For a year and a half I have been wearing the same pair.

The smell of eggs and bacon leaks through the door;

Perfect breakfast just for me--what else to ask for?

She boils water and pours some into my morning bath;

She knows just how much I hate cold's aftermath.

I drift through my patterns like a predictable rhyme;

Her stares are comforting and daunting at the same time.

Before I leave the house, she hugs and kisses me;

Her scent is a mixture of cigarette and coffee.

Then she goes to bed like any tired woman would,

Sleeping with a smile for the gift of motherhood.

--------------------------

Three in the morning, I am awakened by a tap.

What I see next greeted me like a slap.

Neatly laid out on the desk is my Sunday dress.

Under the chair are shoes gleaming to impress.

Aroma of eggs and bacon fills the atmosphere.

I can hear the kettle whistling somewhere near.

I catch the feeling there's someone I cannot see.

Then the smell of cigarette and coffee has embraced me.

Sunday morning duties compelling her to stay.

My beloved mother died just yesterday...

© 2013 Azure Montessa (Blue)

Author's Note

Don't tell my mother I "killed" her in this poem. She might resign from her maternal tasks on Sunday mornings. :)

My Review

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Reviews

Michael G. Smith

Interesting poem I found in more cheerful than sad everyone must die but not everyone is a great mother. Perhaps should love you a little more and give up those cancer sticks. Assuming this is nonfiction. I see you're Filipino. I have two Filipino sister in laws.

Posted 11 Years Ago

Emerald Seas

So well written! I wondered if this was a haunting of some sort, and I am so glad to hear your mother is not gone :) sweet poem full of appreciation and love for Mom.

Posted 11 Years Ago

Baban.A.A

frankly, it gripped and touched me with a sense that I could exactly feel you. the poem was so greatly written, though simple but a beatific meaninglaid within.I admit two confessions to everyone reading this or wants to write about his/her mother.

first, If someone asked you where is heaven
Don't hesitate! audaciously say under my mathor's feet

second, If someone asks you where is hell
I hope you don't go, it is there, in mother's heart.

clarification: it means if your mom approves of you, then be assured of gaining heaven
but if your mom does not approve of you, or if once you heard her "Oohs," and " Aahs" then be certain you found hell. thanks and sorry for being long.