Mothers and Daughters

Me and Sadie

I wrote this poem for a poetry class on Walt Whitman. At the time, my daughter was expecting her first child--a daughter. I decided to share this poem as a Mother's Day gift to my mother, my daughter and all the mothers and daughters. There is a unique and priceless link between mothers and their daughters, it has been that way since the beginning and will always be.

My grandmother, Julia, with my sister Heidi, me, and my sister Ellen.

Four generation, Me, Sadie, and my mom, Diane, holding Aurora. (Rory)

Mothers and Daughters

My grandmother died thirteen years ago,

at death, not the woman she had been.

Julia was a gardener, she grew petunias, raspberries and children.

She loved roses and jewelry and my grandfather…not in that order.

She was short, petite, fierce.

My mother is alive,  a fighter.

Diane is a baker, a singer, a gardener.

She loves my father, her grandchildren and sewing…in that order.

She takes care of others, before herself.

I see myself in both of them. I am daughter, granddaughter, mother.

I grow children, but cannot garden,

I am not a singer.

I love my children, my husband, writing…

the order depends on the day.

My daughter is a young wife,

Sadie is a new gardener, life growing inside her.

She loves her husband, her child, her art…in that order.

She is spiritual, and funny, and fierce.

The women before her have bestowed gifts and traits,

Which she will bestow on her own daughter.

The line goes on,

Golden and strong.

We are mothers and daughters,

and mothers and daughters,

and mothers.