My Mother at 37

Her dead mother and aunts hover.

     She feels them hauling their baffled sense


and rosaries from room to room

     as she shields another day doing


bills, errands, chores and childcare. They

     shrug their shoulders, bewildered


that with six children, a flawed husband,

     and extra body weight, she refuses to idle,


to be landlocked and insular. Her husband

    and in-laws like her drive and organization.


She smiles inside, knowing her children like

    her kindness and selflessness and that is


what she is casting. Not even the sun will daze

    or stifle her, in fact, she will rise with it


and the power of saints

    and do it all again, and again.