The Angles of Mothers
The Angler added her seasoned call:
“Sail into harbors, big and small.
Wield your power, but stay polite.
It’s grace and strength that reel in right.”
- Sailing With Angels
She has the weathered looks of New England,
Pretty without fuss, practical without apology.
She fishes in the middle of things, clever and courageous,
casting where land meets water, where the lighthouse shines.
She is not one woman, but many. An amalgamation of the mothers I grew up with.
Strong mothers. Sporty and wise. Tough and tender.
Women whose sparkle came not from shimmer, but from a twinkle in the eye.
They were well read and well raised.
Their hair not always just so, their spirit at a party, often lively.
They laughed easily, their humor always intact, and at the ready.
They passed their life lessons down.
Beige undergarments under white tops.
Thank-you notes within three days.
Deference, always, to elders.
Flirting, a requirement.
Ladies Nights a must.
They swapped stories of travel and casseroles.
They stitched, planned and hosted, throwing dinner parties with casual ease.
They had equal command of Robert’s Rules and the jitterbug.
Order lived with joy.
Their sadness masked. Their bootstraps up.
She was trying to show you what to be.
Watching her, you learned what worked, and what it cost her,
Hoping you could move through the world
Steady enough to shift.
