I grew up in a large family supported by our father, a traveling salesman, and the industry of our Irish mother, a teacher, homemaker, gardener, skilled cook and seamstress as well as a great lover of poetry, literature and music.
Published Nov/Dec, 2006 in Coffee Press Journal, copyright to J. Donald Coonrod.

A long day at the ironing board,
the family boat afloat on waves
of children’s mewing, soft fur
indeed for the captain’s feet
as hours go by and iron’s
furious steam wears down
the cotton, leaving just threads
of poverty for pride’s privacy.

Lonely lunch passes in a long
day of tick tocks—then the babies
sleep at last. But the work goes
on, long and long, as souls toil.

Evening makes its way in slanting
light, at last—then a miracle, a
rustle at the door...husky voice
breaking the silence just as daylight
disappears—and husbands home.

Love’s a lattice of touch and feel,
families left behind can climb
to fuel a beacon in the sky
over the dark rippling sea, and
bring the boat of uncertainty,
lovingly ashore.