Who invented Mother's Day?
Shall I tell you what some people say?

I've heard that it was mothers
who wanted recognition,
for the thankless work they do
bringing us into fruition.

Some say that it was fathers
wanting just to thank their wives,
for all the pain that they endure
bringing joy into their lives.

Others say that it was babies
telling moms "I love you so".
"You protect and nurture me,
and give me comfort as I grow."

And yet others say its sons
who thought their mothers should be praised,
for teaching love, respect and honor.
Ensuring gentlemen were raised.

But, I say that it was daughters
to tell their moms they now can see,
all that it takes to be a mother,
and because of her, they now can be.

So much she doesn't know about me.
She thinks that she can live without me.
Just wait until she lets me in.
The real confusion will begin.

She'll wonder how she ever made it.
Life before me; over-rated.
And weeks alone feel like forever.
True love becomes her one endeavor.

My face so handsome, how she missed it.
Her neck on fire where I kissed it.
My touch, is there a feeling better?
My words so sweet in every letter.

I'll work magic and she will believe it.
My life and love, she cannot leave it.
If I'm good she won't suspect me.
And she finally know how she affects me.

I need to understand my heart,
before it takes my world apart.
From a marriage that has lived without,
to another who still lives in doubt.

Is love the language that it speaks?
I say with tears upon my cheeks...
or, is pain all that it comprehends,
and love a feeling it pretends?

I do not know these many years.
Too little love, too many tears.
I'm but a fool who played a part,
unsure if I still have a heart.

What a special day I had today.
So special, and it was not even mine.

The sun was warming.
It was God's wind blowing.
And for once, we all were there,
and all our love was showing.
And the children
in the day,
they were laughing, having fun.
And everyone was smiling.
It was all I ever I wanted,
and it was not even mine.

My sister.
It was her day.
And yet the sun could almost die,
but for the radiant Patricia
could keep any heart alive.
Immaculate,
in white and lace.
Enchanting. Captivating.
The gods above did fall in love,
but she shall keep them waiting.

Her husband.
It was his day.
He thanked us just because,
we were who we were,
and he was who he was.
He was genuine in his embrace.
Sincere in his smile.
There beside my sister,
he seemed to strike a certain style.
I knew they would be happy.
This love will last forever.
I could feel it in my heart,
and it was not even mine.

I saw my mother.
She was smiling with a tear.
My father sighed and shook his head,
perhaps somewhere in yesteryear.
Here, witnessing the true event
of what pain and sacrifice are meant.
Knowing in some way she's leaving.
But, in marriage, true believing.
I wanted to laugh as well as cry,
and it was not even mine.

My sisters.
They all did contest.
Competing with the bride.
Resplendent.
They did look their best,
I still cannot decide,
if it was they that looked more beautiful
or more the day
and all the view.
And as I looked around at wide-eyed guests,
I knew that they did wonder, too.

My brothers.
All so strong and cool.
Among the guests,
so sure to fool.
Of four, three of us still *****.
We swear those words will not be said!
We congratulate.
We poke and jibe.
And yet we keep the truth inside.
We stop and think about our day.
We dream.
We hope its something like today.
I dream and sigh,
and want today,
though it was not even mine.

As we gathered for the photograph
I began to see my flaw.
This day that I had wanted,
it was no one's day at all.
For days that are this beautiful,
and this loving, I have learned,
are only lent to us by God,
and soon must be returned.
But we can take from it our memories,
and our dreams and friendships, too.
Patricia and Mike will take each other,
and a love that lives anew.

As you go I'm pressed to say,
you're leaving in so many ways,
and each of them I'll miss with reason.
With you it's been a fruitful season.

You're going with your brains and skill.
I never realized it until
I think of working on my own.
Yet, by your side, I see I've grown.

You're going with your wit and smile.
I've never realized all the while,
how much better work can be
with you here to joke with me.

You're going with you hugs and kisses.
The one thing I will surely miss is
how you made my burden lighter
and every day a little brighter.

You're leaving with your Cuizinart.
I should've told you from the start,
it is a loss, and I do grieve it,
and to see if maybe you will leave it. :)

But Pat, what I'll miss most is you.
You've been a friend so rare and true.
And the one thing I must say to you,
You have my thanks and my love too.

I have a switch.
Won’t someone turn me on?
Push my buttons.
Listen to me hum.

How lonely I have been
upon this counter top.
Remembering a time
when my motor never stopped.

Once so indispensable,
saving money, space and time.
But my faded almond housing
says that I am past my prime.

I curse Ronco and Popeil.
I curse China and Taiwan.
I curse the girl who had to have me.
Her fascination quickly gone.

Can you hear me crying?
Where is my infomercial now?
My three-easy payments over.
Guarantee void anyhow.

Won't someone push my button?
Won't you listen to me hum?
Here I sit, just waiting
for that yard sale sure to come.

Please. Will
someone take this weight
from up on me?
It's killing me,
and I don't
know how to put it down.

Wait.
I do not like the light
that's up on me.
It’s seeing me,
and I know
I don't like what it's found.