Seven for Mom

Mom, high heels, never.
Somebody's wife and mother.
God first, then the rest.

Sunday's dishpan hands
style hair spun to golden floss
every Friday.

Beauty, love, honor.
Human condition explored
while packing lunches.

Peeling potatoes,
a knuckle scraped blood red.
Anyone notice?

How did you do it?
Provide the foundation for
other people's lives.

No explosive throes,
demands for acknowledgment.
Just, what's for dinner?

Grace, beauty, like truth,
in the eyes of beholders.
Mom, I'm watching you.