Mother Love

All Poems, Anniversaries, Birthdays, Memories, Mother Love, Pleasure, Siblings, Spirituality

Bouquet

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My sister and her husband arrived with a bouquet.

Revealing all the colors of June.

Illuminating the kitchen, buoying spirits.

Daisies, mums, Peruvian lilies.

Snapdragons, Japanese irises.

A toast to our dual festivities.

Birthday and wedding anniversary.

Only last week.

Already marked at the seashore.

But, they persisted.

Despite the cruelty of racing time.

Their own health issues.

Busy schedules.

Sibling and her mate.

Filling the gap.

Where our own mother used to stand.

At the forefront of congratulations.

Making sure each occasion acknowledged.

Duly noted.

Be it with party, card, dinner, gift.

So, there it was.

Perfume in a vase.

Wafting felicitations.

And memories of our mother.

A special visit remembering us

with a floral serenade.

Who expected maternal breath

to help us celebrate?

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 23, 2024

Adult Children, All Poems, Family, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Memories, Mother Love, Regret, Shavuot, Stories

Shavuot

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It fills me with song.

To see a pair of Sketchers, size four.

Next to our sneakers on the floor.

Sign that Elias is here, a day or two.

While his mother davens in New City.

He, off from school for Shavuot.

Holiday when Moses received the Ten Commandments.

Marking my own confirmation, sixty years ago.

Right here at Adath Jeshurun, Elkins Park.

The first time reading a poem I composed.

To an entire congregation.

Feeling excitement, anticipation, vulnerability.

A rush, sharing thoughts with others.

Meditation on time, hope, truth, death, life.

Being acknowledged.

By friends, family, rabbi.

My daughter, one year short of cantorial degree, surprised.

When I told her I hold dear this holiday.

For she, at semester’s conclusion, ready to move past it to summer.

Until hired as guest chazan.

Preparing herself to chant.

For two lunar days.

In a blink, it became important to her, too.

This spring holiday, completion of the counting of the Omer.

Unexpected revelation between my daughter and me.

A story I wished I could tell my mother.

Along with appreciation for the party she made me.

At fifteen, after the Shavuot service.

Recognizing me.

Letting me know I belong.

To a larger cosmology.

Something I didn’t know then to thank her for.

Though she knew how to give.

So, I’ll scatter seeds of gratitude,

beseeching she’ll forgive.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 12, 2024

Daven is the Yiddish word meaning to chant the Jewish liturgy or pray.

Chazan is a cantor in a synagogue.

The counting of the Omer is a period of 49 days from the second day of Passover until the first day of Shavuot. During this time, marriage festivities are prohibited.

All Poems, Holidays, Mother Love, Mother's Day

Mothers’ Day in May

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Mothers’ Day falls in May.

But, I think about mothers all the time.

Maybe a habit, since childhood.

When I aspired to be a mother.

Gathering my dolls for tea.

Reading to them.

Putting them to bed.

Rehearsing for the day when I’d get the role.

Not realizing the complexity of the task.

Growth cycles.

Differences in children.

Temperaments.

Learning styles.

For me, relentless challenges.

Emotional, physical.

Seeking knowledge.

Books, mentors, seminars.

Making discoveries.

Finding support when situations, tough.

A miracle, I made it through.

Progeny intact.

Moving forward with their lives.

So, a mother of any age in any stage.

Or, anyone who works with children.

No matter gender, capacity.

Teachers, coaches, nannies.

I give them all automatic credit.

Embarking on this journey.

To cultivate healthy people,

ethical and kind.

It takes a special touch,

inching toward divine.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 12, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Babies, Birth, For Children, Love, Mother Love, Parent Love, Stories

What Is It About Geese in a Pond?

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What is it about geese in a pond?

Luring me toward them?

Multiple times a day?

To observe, snap photos?

Is it the goose honking each morning from a rooftop?

Announcing something new?

First the emergence of goslings.

Then, parents teaching them to swim.

Or, is it my own curiosity?

Admiration for these birds?

Calmly awaiting hatching?

Mother on her nest for weeks.

Father on duty around her.

Protecting his mate, progeny.

From outside threats.

Is it the way they pull together?

Now that the brood, born.

Both teaching chicks to glide upon water.

Withstand vagaries of weather.

Sunshine, clouds, drizzles, downpours.

Know when to nudge their small ones into naps?

All piling in under mother’s ample wing.

Hidden from prying eyes.

Instructing them to poke, peck for food?

While father continues his patrol, hissing at intruders.

What is it about geese?

A dedicated conjugal pair

prioritizing their young.

Collaborating tranquilly,

imparting inspiration.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 28, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Birth, Emotions, For Children, Miracles, Mother Love, Natural Beauty, Pleasure, Stories

April Morning

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The April morning, glorious.

Crisp, cool, but not cold.

Early sun warming hands, face.

What was that honking?

Rhythmic, loud, incessant?

Coming from nearby?

I searched in all directions.

Till I saw a goose perched on a rooftop.

As though making a pronouncement to the kingdom.

In a flash, I knew exactly what was being bellowed.

Despite my ignorance of the words.

The babies, born.

To the goose and gander by the pond.

So I dashed over to take a look.

Seeing father on duty.

His partner shielding yellow chicks under one wing.

I counted three.

Then a fourth waddled out.

Four, I whispered to a woman on a bench.

Then, a fifth.

Five, I breathed.

Taking in the miracle of the scene.

Then, to my amazement, a sixth.

Six goslings, the color of bright sunflowers.

Creeping in and out from under mother’s wing.

Beneath pink weeping cherries, sending out bouquets.

Surrounded by carpets of lavender vinca blooms.

A village of frogs and turtles.

Graduate students, neighbors.

All having waited, now rejoicing

the wonder of new birth.

In a season bursting with color

sprouting from tender earth.

Lynn Benjamin

April 26, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Birth, For Children, Mother Love, Parent Love

Father Goose

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I think Father Goose doesn’t like me, said the woman.

Passing near the pond.

Where papa was on patrol.

Swimming, waddling, pacing.

Back and forth, to and fro.

While his partner sat upon the nest.

In rain, wind, cold.

Even through tremors of a morning earthquake.

Shaking ground around us.

From an event miles away in New Jersey.

Nothing flustered her.

She endured, rooted in place.

But the father wandered a wide berth.

A wary policeman on duty.

Checking out any and all walkers.

Who could disturb his brooding family.

Shooing even the most innocent away.

Jumping, screeching, flapping wings.

For hatching time is near.

Any stranger is a threat.

What do you expect

from a gander never met?

Lynn Benjamin

April 15, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, For Children, Mother Love, Stories

They Must Have Known

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They must have known.

The three deer.

Three squirrels.

Robin and cardinal.

They must have known.

It was going to rain.

So, they were out playing.

Before the cloudburst.

Just outside my window.

I knew, too.

From checking the forecast on my iphone.

So, I grabbed my umbrella.

To carry to the theater.

Hoping the downpour would wait till evening.

But, by four, it was hammering sidewalks.

I was glad the animals knew to frolic.

How about the goose?

By the pond at Salus?

Sitting on her eggs for days?

So, I detoured, walking back from the train.

To catch a glimpse.

There she was, steadfast,

enduring pelting showers.

A model of maternity

among glistening spring flowers.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 3, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Emotions, Gym/exercise, Health/Illness, Mother Love, Thank-You

Back to the Gym

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Away for a month, it was time to get back to the gym.

To stretching arms, legs, core.

It’s called Farmer’s Carry, explained the trainer.

Like a farmer carrying two pails of milk.

As he demonstrated, carrying a weight in each hand.

Keeping shoulders back, breathing.

Walking erect, one end of the room to the other.

Back again.

So, I emulated him.

Carrying, then being carried.

Right back to age twelve.

My mother sending me to Charm School.

At Gimbels Department Store.

To learn to pull shoulders back.

Stand up straight.

Walk gracefully with balance.

Perching a plate atop the head.

Daring it to fall.

Now, doing it again.

In old age.

Never having thanked my mother

for the thoughtful care she gave.

I felt the ocean in my stomach,

a strong regretful wave.

 

Lynn Benjamin

February 10, 2024

 

Aging, All Poems, Family, Mother Love, Parents, Sleep, Spain, Trips and Places

Improbable Floats in Dreams

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The improbable floats in dreams.

While in Valencia, asleep.

My mother comes.

Driving a white Olds station wagon.

Dropping me off for a childbirth class.

Still parked when I race out to hand her a mat.

I couldn’t haul around all day.

Relieved, I think how reliable she is.

There to pick up the pieces.

When my eyes open.

To see my face in the mirror.

Lines, puffy skin, swollen lids.

Exactly my mother in old age.

Why had she come to me?

Was it the pile of postcards on the table?

Like the ones I wrote to her?

Daily, when traveling.

The scarves I saw in shop windows?

Jewelry?

LLadró?

The gifts I carried home to her.

All those reminders of journeys.

Thoughts of my mother far away.

Wanting to please, to comfort her

like she did for me, each day.

 

Lynn Benjamin

January 15, 2024

 

 

All Poems, Babies, Change, Creation, Emotions, Mother Love, Parent Love, Pleasure

Nativity

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The excitement in your voice rushed, a current.

Swirling, vibrating in tiny circles.

Full of energy, passion.

Recounting nativity on Christmas Eve.

Your first granddaughter.

Invitation to dip a hand, toe.

Feel the motion.

Connect with it.

It pulled me back.

To the birth of my first grandchild.

The sense of awe.

A tiny newborn.

From the loins of my child

Evolution of seed and egg.

Sliding into light.

Before my eyes.

Witness to a new generation.

Unfolding at its own pace.

Overlapping chronologies.

As I paddle to the finish line.

The infant bathing by the shore.

High spirits exhilarate.

Cascade to and fro in time.

Blur boundaries between beginnings.

Rippling, they intertwine.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 31, 2023