This mother’s day will be
like unto any other,
beautiful because
he is mine and
I am his and
I am blessed
because of this.

Most years have passed
without any special
recognition, with a
passing mention
or anonymous
extension of
acknowledgement,

like when some stranger
tied a deflating balloon
to the tree in the yard,
welcome surprise
that in the end
underscored
my loneliness.

Still, void of worldly
love that haunts me
cannot compare
to transcendent
gift that’s mine
to treasure
any mother’s day.

His laugh brings tears
of joy I can’t describe.
Now on the cusp of
adolescence, he
can see, we've
come through -
so much so soon.

I rejoice in a heart
too broken now
for words. Like
every mother’s
day, I hold him,
only gift I’ll
really ever need.