My mother was always good,
At making something from nothing.
She could pull a meal from an empty cupboard,
Like Houdini's greatest trick.

She could find money when we had none,
A present for a birthday party,
Socks mended like new when needed,
A family from a disaster.

When I was older I quickly understood things,
That people make nothing from something.
But its not the same nothing,
That I felt.

Now standing in the kitchen of my home,
I wish I had my mothers Houdini hands.
Because the cupboards are bare,
And the children are so hungry.