Poetry Porch: Poetry

 

Mother of my friend
By Marge Piercy

I have some lilac bushes but
my favorite is white, huge
vigorous as a healthy horse

with a scent that tastes
like honey, sensuous, filling
my head with sweet wine.

I grew it from a cutting a friend
gave me. Her mother had planted
it years before, a handsome

woman who made Russian pashka
cake, who could cook and bake,
a cigarette plastered to her lip.

In May she was the first one
to swim the cold ponds before
even the oaks leafed out.

She knew how to love her
daughter. Itís not so common.
She was learning ancient Greek

to read the plays. She had
a gift for living but stroke
took her far too soon. White

lilac recalls her to meóa widow
who never pitied herself but
spread wide and blossomed.


Copyright © 2015 by Marge Piercy.