Grown don’t mean nothing to a mother. A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown? What’s that supposed to mean? In my heart it don’t mean a thing. ~Toni Morrison, Beloved, 1987
Who loves us
In spite of our
Flaws and prickliness.
The one who gave us life
And sacrificed her own hopes
To keep us happy, safe, and clean.
How can we ever thank her enough?
But perhaps she doesn’t need repayment.
Note: This poetic form is an Etheree. Today is my mom’s birthday (I won’t say how many!). Happy B-day, Mom!