Her deep earth eyes
whisper hues of maple bark and leaf,
while wrinkles of smile grace her face,
and make it soft and loving.
She wears multi-hued clothing which makes me giggle,
but gathers compliments from aging women
who glare at their own dull fashion,
secretly disgusted at their lack of imagination.
She is a statue, strong and steady, making
others shrink when she speaks,
because they know she is right
and they believe in her words.
She has always been behind me,
enduring cold, metal bleachers to urge me on,
even if I felt that I wasn’t good enough
to merit praise.
She has sat next to me, encouraged my intelligence
and made my art have meaning
with her approval.
She passed down to me her sense of justice,
and made me stronger.
Because of her, I never settle for less
than I deserve.
We have had wars and tears,
battles and scars,
but they have healed.
And she will always be
the soul within me,
my mother.