For my second mother on Mother's Day

I touch her face
In saying our good-byes,
Softness lingers
On my fingertips
And becomes my memory,
An unconscious metaphor.

She is kindness,
A ninety year old goddess,
A grace, her bequest,
The peace in my heart,
Remembering her essence,
A love expecting nothing.

In my rearview mirror
I see her face
Alight with inner joy.
It comes from a source,
Unknown to me,
But filling me with hope.

Written by Joyce Greene
5/9/08