Sonnet on My Mother

My mother does her dishes in her sweats,
Athena with her stainless steel war-gear;
She’s silver-streaked, her wings are all erect,
With soap in hand, all scum should hide in fear.

At work, she smiles to light the way through class,
a lighthouse leading to where scholars meet;
she o’ersees paddleboats and ships en masse,
with lifesavers of Nietzsche and of Keats.

My mom just heads us all, a house of three,
For she’s our moth in cards and calls abroad,
Our ears when blood boils o’er’ or heralds glee,
Our stomach filt’ring out the grit and gaud.

I’ve won Go Fish – Gene Pool with three of three:
A warrior spirit, tow’ring hopes and mien.

----A/N - My mom rocks.