The Mother of My Children

Nancy and our girls on our epic vacation to the southwest in 98

​There are two kinds of writers that I’m genuinely jealous of—songwriters and poets. Songwriters because they have such a knack for combining words to tell a story that can be set to music, a language all its own that I don’t understand. Sometimes I watch documentaries on famous singer/songwriters just to be amazed at their talent. Tom Petty, Glenn Frey, Billy Joel, Jim Croce, Willie Nelson. The list goes on.
Poets because they can look so deeply into almost anything and express emotion with words in concise and moving, short sonnets. I teared up listening to Amanda Gorman at the recent inauguration ceremony. My opinion…I suck at poetry. Maybe I could be better if I’d paid better attention to the forms and construction rules in my high school English classes. Miss Seibold tried, I failed to listen.
I dabble in poetry, but it’s definitely not my forte.
I mentioned this to my wife recently and she scoffed at me. It left me scratching my head. She told me that I did have some really good ones. Hmm. Could’ve fooled me. Anyway, it got me thinking about poetry again. So, when Mother’s Day rolled around, I decided to try again. I sat down at my desk late on the Saturday night before the matriarchal holiday and put together what my heart was telling me. The result follows. It is a freeform poem, but I like it. Hope you enjoy it.

The Mother of My Children
Michael DeCamp
Copyright © 2021 by Michael DeCamp
Have you ever tried to figure out what God was thinking when he created mothers?
I envision him sitting in his study behind a large, ancient, oak desk,
A globe is spinning on its axis in one corner,
He’s rocking back and forth in his office chair,
Scratching his chin,
There’s two days full of growth in his whiskers.
“I know,” he says to himself,
“I’ll make something soft and pleasant,
But with a core that is hard as the hardest stone,
A heart that gives and gives and gives,
But can also break with the pain of her children.
I’ll make her a friend, a lover, a nurturer, a builder of character,
But I’ll also make her a dangerous defender, an adamant protector, an avid promoter, and an emotional supporter.”
In my imagination,
After contemplating all the various attributes, God leaned back in his seat,
Scratched his chin once again,
And declared from the depths of the sea to the tops of the mountains,
“Mothers--
They will birth nations,
Carry world leaders in their arms,
Absorb broken hearts,
Lift up fragile dreams,
Spank the bottoms of unruly children,
And be the hope, love, joy, and inspiration for each generation.”
The mother of my children certainly fits this description.