Song of My Mother

                  1.
She’s there in the chorus of voices
buzzing from a transistor radio
simultaneously there and uptown
at the Colosseum named for
our
fallen
king.

A sweeping crescendo and her clear-lake alto
rises above all other voices
angelic soloist crackling
through the ether -
if I opened our front door
I might hear her song on the snowy wind
flowing from all those miles away.

It is dark outside
& the air is crisp with the promise of Christmas.

                       2.
The doffing machine rushed into her ears
like a misdirected river
day in & day out
six days a week
until one day the finger of God
unplugged the circuits
and the room slowed to a murmur.
For an hour the women stood
speculating at their posts until a foreman
shuffled down the row & announced
“there’s a hurricane out there, you can go home
for the day.”

Pushing against relentless wind she
stumbled out into an intersection
just as a steeple crashed to the ground.
Her prayers rested on her lips
linking arms with coworkers
to form a chain against the furious gusts.

                       3.
She ascends
above treeline
foot by foot
leaning upon her walking stick
while I wait admiring
the azure sky.
any moment she might
burst into a chorus of
Climb Ev’ry Mountain
yet for now, she is catching her breath
and I am grateful for the miracle
of having hiked this far.