It’s a kind of love, is it not?
How your bottle holds the milk,
how your highchair stands upright and foursquare,
how the playmat accepts the continuous stomping of your feet.
I’ve been thinking about the patience of things commonplace and routine.
How your pretty frocks wait reverently in the closet,
and how quick-dry quietly dries your pee,
and your towels drink the wet from the delicate skin of your back.
And the patient repetition of nursery rhymes.
And what is more generous than a mother’s love?
An Ode to My Mother
Tell me about the girl my mother was,
before she swapped in all her girl to be my mother.
What did she look like?
What did she smell like?
What did she read?
Where did she travel?
Tell me about the friends she had.
Did she daydream?
Tell me about all the moments she delighted in.
Tell me about everyone she ever loved.
What made her come alive?
What was her favourite pastime
before she swapped in all her girl to be my mother?
Before I took up so much space in her prayers,
who did my mother pray for?
About the Author
Before she was a full-time mother, Colette RC spent time in her favourite coffee shop reading fiction. She read her first fiction novel in ninth grade and has been addicted ever since. She currently lives in Calcutta, India with her husband, daughter and a goldfish.