Poems & Essays

23 Mar

My Mother’s Rings

General/Column One Response

I wear my mother’s rings;

and though she would not say it,

I have my mother’s hands.

She dressed her children

just as I dressed mine;

fingered buttons,

tied shoes.

Played croquet and cards,

and sometimes dolls or trucks.

Made meals,

made peace.

Washed dishes,

and faces.

Mended clothes,

and skin and hearts.

Turned the pages of books,

that had been turned

it seemed,

a hundred times before.

Then placed the rings

in her daughter’s hands.

 

Karen Buckley is the mother of two adult children and the grandmother of her daughter’s daughter. She is also an English and philosophy professor at the University of Wisconsin, Whitewater. 

 

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1 Comment

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  1. Beth Mills

    July 5, 2016 at 6:13 pm

    Karen,
    This poem is just beautiful. Simple, spare, and powerful. Nothing extra. I am also at that stage in life, having raised two daughters and now spending time with their children, doing those same things again. I have my mother’s rings too, but I seldom wear them. Maybe I should!

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