In Honor Of Mother's Day

I wrote this poem several years ago (back in '99, the first Mother's Day after my mom passed), but I thought that in honor of Mother's Day, I would post it today. (Blue daisies were my mom's favorite flower and so, every year for Mother's Day, my father and I got blue daisies for not only my mom but also for both of my grandmothers.)

Daisies, Painted Blue

Blue daisies past are haunting me
from atop my mother's
cold and silent grave.

In the flower shop this morning,
I asked for three sets of daisies,
painted blue.
And then I faltered, stumbled,
cried.

One set will be seen and then forgotten,
lonely on a table buried long ago
in dusty bills and letters,
memories.
Where sunshine used to live,
my mother's mother dies.

Another set will stand out grandly,
shining from a
pint-sized empty milk jug before my
father's mother's vacant stare.
Glass vases are forbidden in
psychiatric wards.

And the last bouquet will not be seen,
instead will rot in spring's cold sun
atop my mother's grave.
I am not a child's mother
nor a mother's child.
All I am is daisies,
painted blue.