Today's poem is by Victoria Wyttenberg

Mother in Heaven
       

Late one night when I could not sleep, I wondered
how Mother, who had trouble on earth,
would get along with angels,
linen wings ironed smooth and shaped just right
under chiffon, their voices on key at appointed hours.
Maybe she would not find it perfect in heaven.
Angels have chores. One had to rescue Daniel
and hold the south wind back. My mother, in her garden,
could only clip a gardenia to her idle hair.
Now, gazing down at the moon, she only pleases
or displeases God, and maybe looking down, gets dizzy,
as odd an angel as she was a mother.
Maybe, remembering her own rebellion, Vashti helps
when Mother stumbles, and maybe Rachel remembers
a daughter and a bride. Heaven has its own requirements.
If she is tipsy perhaps it won't matter. Clouds
can rinse her in holy water, the Milky Way shimmering
around her. I try to get on with my life.
Demons are another matter. Mother should be careful
who she flutters up against.
The Devil himself can be charming
leading her into the kitchen
or hanging her by her ankles,
her shadow blue, smoke in her eyes.

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Copyright © 2024 Victoria Wyttenberg All rights reserved
from A Bird Watching
MoonPath Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission