the more I appreciate her. Today I post a poem I wrote about her a while ago. Tomorrow I will post
a few thoughts about parents and ambivalence. Dear Readers, I would welcome your thoughts on the
topic of our mixed feelings toward our parents.
Raisins
On the lucky grammar school days,
I found a little box of raisins
in my lunch bag packed by Mom
On the red box, the picture
of the sun-maiden shone.
She always wore a white apron
and flashed a peaceful smile
as if to radiate the warmth
of the star that nurtures each one
of us and all the raisins in the world
Mom passed on fourteen years ago
to this day. So, it is natural that I think
of her in this way. I think too
about how we’re cut from the mother-
cord of flesh and blood
while the grape is yanked
from the mother vine of wood.
What a treat, each raisin sucked
then chewed. Of course, I always
wanted more of them.
Don’t we always want
More of any sweet fruit?
But Mom sensibly warned
that one box was enough.
More lead to pain and sorrow
The sweetness held in these
wrinkled skins once smooth
now enhanced by sun and age.
Oh, to see myself as one
who harbors some sweet-secrets
A shriveled mortal morsel, passing
through nature’s order and disorder
that comes with time, the view
from inside and outside our skins.
detached, we shrivel too to be boxed
and consumed by earth’s ravenous hunger
